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CAPTAIN MACDONALD'S DAUGHTER 


& Noucl 





\s 


BY 



NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLTN SQUARE 

1887 


VZ-3 


Copyright, 1887, by Harper & Brothers. 


All rights reserved. 


to £. 0. 


My dear S. — 1 dedicate to you , in pledge of everlasting friendship 
and affection , this simple story of one who sinned and suffered. 

A. C. 




r 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER I. 

Scotland is essentially the land of “ plain living 
and high thinking;” and among all the thousands of 
Scottish families who owned this national character- 
istic a quarter of a century ago, there was not one 
to whom it came more naturally than the family in 
the Manse of Strathlowrie. 

Strathlowrie, for a town of its size, was not ill-off 
for places of worship. There were the Established 
Church, and the Free Church, and the Original Se- 
cession Church — whose members called themselves, 
not without reason, a “ remnant” — and the Congrega- 
tional Chapel, that looked twice as large after the 
great Dr. Lyndsay Alexander preached in it, and the 
Blank Meeting*- house, where Peter Angus mostly 
held forth. Peter was not a Reverend, but in local 
parlance a “ merchant” — a term which, being inter- 
preted, meant a dealer in almost everything that can 
be worn, or devoured, or imbibed, together with a 


2 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


great variety of things that cannot. The Blanks, 
being even fewer in number than the “ remnant,” 
could not afford a resident minister, and Peter was 
only too happy, after practising Shy lock all the week, 
to play Boanerges on Sunday. 

Now, whether what I have called the Manse was 
Established, Free, or Original Secession, I am not 
going to tell you. It must have been one of the 
three; for though there were four ministers — and 
Peter Angus — in Strathlowrie, there were only three 
Manses. 

Our Manse, within or without, bore no token of 
rich endowments. It was a square structure, plas- 
tered, gravelled, and whitewashed, with a stone wing 
that had been built when the bairns began to come. 
There were dining-room and kitchen below; parlor, 
bedroom, and study above; and a long, low, haunted 
attic to finish off with. The wing contained two 
bedrooms, on the wood-work of which a Strathlowrie 
joiner had lavished some really good carving. “ It’ll 
be an advertisement,” he had said to his wife when 
remonstrated with for giving too much for the mon- 
ey. But, alas! the wing had the slight disadvantage 
of being entered only from the kitchen, so that Sir 
Alaster Macalaster from the Castle, and the old maids 
his sisters, could scarcely be asked into it even to see 
the carving. The entrance passage was narrow and 
short, the stairs were narrow and steep, and both 
were of stone — cold and poor-looking, but kept clean, 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


3 


in spite of the numerous feet, at the cost of deadly 
feud between Jean and the children. 

The church was neither Gothic, nor Norman, nor 
Grecian, and yet any child could determine its style. 
It belonged to the Barn order of architecture — a 
type that for places of worship is happily becoming 
extinct. Joining the Manse at right angles, it did 
not put it to shame, being only a larger and there- 
fore uglier edition of it. 

It was Monday morning in the Manse, a time 
when youthful spirits were more than usually boister- 
ous after the restraints of the day before — unless, 
indeed, Davie, the Master of the Bevels, happened 
to have failed in his catechism on Sunday evening, 
when his merriment was apt to be spasmodic, and 
varied by sidelong glances at the taws, which oc- 
cupied an honorable place among the Penates in the 
dining-room. Sunday naughtiness was always whip- 
ped, as Sunday dishes were always washed, on Mon- 
day morning; but while the dishes were disposed 
of the moment Jean rose, naughtiness had the de- 
light of anticipation till after worship, yet dared not 
for that miss its turn in the reading, or let its voice 
be unheard in the psalm. 

The morning began, as all other mornings began 
at the Manse, with the clarion voice of Mr. Leslie 
sounding reveille . Woe to that child who did not 
dance when the minister piped ! The sweets of his 
stolen snooze were apt to be broken in upon by a 


4 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

convulsion that landed him in the middle of the 
floor, one ear tingling with a terrible fillip, and 
both with the assurance that if their owner was not 
on his way to his sea-bath in five minutes the min- 
ister would know the reason why. In the matter 
of rising and bathing there was one rule for boys 
and girls, so that any summer morning you might 
have seen a bevy of yawning and sometimes cross 
young mortals scrambling down the great heap 
of stones that lay between the Manse and the 
sands — the girls then going in one direction and 
the boys in another to the caves, their only bathing- 
houses. 

Tour sea is a great magician; for, presto! in five 
minutes the sleepiness and the crossness have van- 
ished, and in half an hour the shabby Manse dining- 
room, which is also sitting-room and nursery, is 
brightened by glowing faces and uproarious with 
all sorts of noises : bits of the Greek grammar from 
Colin, wild barks from Kelpie, piteous mews from 
the cat — a respectable and peaceable animal whose 
lines had not fallen in pleasant places — fearful crashes 
caused by Davie’s vaulting ambition overleaping it- 
self, and the severe moralizing of Jean as she lays 
the cloth — “ Gude save us !” Said I nae weel that 
ministers’ bairns are aye waur than the lave ?” 

On this particular Monday morning the two little 
girls have sallied out to “ the Corner ” to refresh 
themselves with a glimpse of the outer world, and 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


5 


to display themselves and their clean ginghams. 
Their house stood on a quiet street, or lane rather, 
leading to the sea — a road which appeared to have 
been made solely for the convenience of the Manse 
occupants. Between the house and the sands there 
was nothing but the Manse garden ; while on the 
- other side of the lane there was only a butcher’s 
high-walled pasture, where doomed cattle and sheep 
spent their last days in gorging. But the street on 
which the church faced had life enough of its kind. 
With the exception of the rather imposing residence 
of Mr. Campbell, a lawyer — the great man of our 
congregation — it was filled with poor cottages, and 
to the swarms of children belonging to these the 
minister and his bairns seemed very grand indeed. 
Tory and Nan were quite aware of this, and usual- 
ly bore themselves, Tory especially, with mingled 
dignity and condescension. 

Tory is beautiful, and she knows it. Her blue 
eyes, golden curls, and seraphic smile win the hearts 
of everybody. She has the gift of song too, and 
the old bodies that listen to her singing “ The Lord’s 
my Shepherd ” wipe their eyes and bless her, and 
call her an angel bairn. 

To-day Tory is more than usually lofty. She 
looks past, not at, her admirers, and at last bewil- 
ders Nan by turning to her and asking inconse- 
quently, “ Has the bell sounded ?” 

“ What bell ?” Nan would have said ; but Tory 


6 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


nipped the intention in the bud by frowning, jerking 
her dress, and actually attempting a wink. 

“ Has the breakfast bell sounded ?” then she asked. 

Nan could truthfully answer that it had not. With 
so many pairs of excellent lungs in the house the 
minister considered gongs and bells superfluities. 
The family gatherings were usually prefaced by a 
series of shouts: “ Dinner’s ready!” “Your por- 
ridge is getting cold !” or, “ Come ben to worship !” 

The youthful admirers looked on with increased 
awe. Tory strutted up and down in front of the 
church railings, carrying on with Nan a conversa- 
tion in which she managed to introduce her tur- 
quoise brooch and gold pencil-case, together with 
passing allusions to the “drawing-room” and the 
“ library.” If the minister had only heard ! 

Suddenly a burst of mocking laughter greets her 
ears, and looking round, with cheeks crimson with 
indignation, she recognizes as the offender a bare- 
headed, barefooted girl a year or two older than 
herself. Kirsty Poison had been Jean’s drudge at 
the Manse until the little girls had developed too 
great a fondness for her. Kirsty advanced smiling. 
“Ye didna ken I had come hame,” she said; then 
seeing wrath in Tory’s face, “Losh, Tory, ye needna 
mind me ; I wad never tell. Let’s hae a game o’ 
holies.” 

Alas for Tory ! To play marbles out of the gar- 
den, and to play with Kirsty anywhere, are in- 


captain Macdonald^ daughter. ? 

fringements of the articles of war existing between 
her and her seniors. But the angel bairn has a lik- 
ing for Kirsty and a passion for “ holies,” and so 
down on the dirty pavement goes the clean ging- 
ham, the golden curls in close proximity to Kirsty’s 
carrots, and the fingers that might have been crash- 
ing out “The Battle of Prague” on the tinkling 
cymbal in the Manse parlor, manipulating marbles 
fished from the pockets of Kirsty’s dirty little broth- 
er. Alas for Tory ! 

Familiarity breeds contempt! The juvenile un- 
washed gather round, not so respectful as they have 
been. Kirsty has certainly deteriorated during her 
absence, Tory decides. She is not so reverential as 
she used to be; and when she wins she actually in- 
sists on giving the “knuckles;” and in trying to pre- 
vent Tory’s escape, creates a wide breach between 
the body and skirt of the gingham. The plebs side 
with their order, and shout “ It’s no fair !” when 
Tory indignantly refuses to undergo the humilia- 
tion. In the heat of the controversy Kirsty takes 
aim at the sacred knuckles in mid-air, and Tory, 
furious with pain and mortification, delivers on her 
enemy’s cheek a sounding slap. What might have 
happened next there is no knowing. What does 
happen is that a supercilious-looking youth in blue 
glasses comes suddenly upon the scene, and in an- 
other moment the angel bairn is seized with an iron 
grasp and borne off to justice. To appear before 


8 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD'S DAUGHTER. 


the assembled family in such a plight is terrible in- 
deed, but not so terrible as to be powerless to avenge 
herself when she hears Kirsty announce triumphantly 
to her satellites, “ She’ll catch ’t !” 

Let us draw a veil over the next few minutes. 
Tory’s solo being over, the family raise in chorus 
the morning psalm. The reader may look and lis- 
ten if he will. 

The Rev. Robert Leslie was a man who feared 
God and executed righteousness. Extremes meet, 
and the cardinal article of Mr. Leslie’s creed was 
not at all unlike the Catholic doctrine of purgatory. 
He believed that every sin has a temporal as well as 
an eternal punishment assigned to it; but while lie 
taught and believed that adequate penitence might 
bring about the remission of the greater penalty, he 
acted upon the principle that nothing could remit 
the less, and that it was the special province of God’s 
ministers to see this meted out. “Are you sorry for 
your sin, or sorry that you are going to feel the 
taws?” he would dryly ask the family penitent. Of- 
fenders before the kirk-session fared no better. In 
both cases forgiveness would eventually be given, 
and given so graciously that neither child nor grown 
person cherished animosity towards the avenger; but 
it was never given till the fullest satisfaction had 
been made. 

Do not picture to yourself, however, a morose big- 
ot, as the Scottish minister has been so often painted. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


9 


As he sits there, singing with all his soul and with 
a mighty voice, your heart warms to him at once. 
Scarcely fifty, of massive but well-built figure, rather 
under the medium height, he looks the incarnation 
of physical strength ; and he is. A glance at the face 
assures you that there is a sound mind in the sound 
body. The features are large, but firmly cut ; the 
jaw is square; the lips firm, but capable of melting 
into a smile that wins your heart; the gray eyes are 
by turns threatening and tender; the black hair 
scarpely shows a thread of gray, except in the closely 
cut side- whiskers. Altogether, it is the face of a man 
whom you must obey, and must love. 

The beauty of Mr. Leslie’s rule was, that there 
was nothing vague about it. He took care that a 
child fully understood what was required and what 
was forbidden before he administered the punish- 
ment annexed. Then it was a law that embraced 
himself. First to rise, last to go to bed, never idle, 
never self-indulgent, sharing the children’s porridge 
and milk, or whatever their fare might be, dividing 
equitably with them the simple dainties that devoted 
members of his flock offered out of their poverty — 
how could one murmur against such a leader? I 
have known ministers— ay, ministers — who were the 
most charming of men in society, and the most cross 
and grumpy — regular wet-blankets — at their own 
firesides. But our minister, if only obeyed, was the 
most genial of men, and his most charming ways 


10 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

were for his own wife and bairns. Delightful anec- 
dotes, useful bits of knowledge, were constantly be- 
ing poured forth, so that the children absorbed in- 
formation as they did light and air, and learned a 
thousand things without knowing they were learning 
one. 

The children thought their father’s absence of 
nerves a redeeming quality. One of the ministers 
they knew required strictest seclusion and Sunday 
quiet for his sermon-making, while Monday was a 
day of sleep and slops on his part, and anxious, in- 
quiries on that of the congregation ; recalling to 
mockers what a certain wit said at the expense of 
the poet Rogers and his efforts. Mr. Leslie wrote in 
his study, but he heard all that was going on. If 
revelry held sway out of time, he sallied out and set 
things to rights; if revelry kept its proper hours, 
the children might screech like wild Indians, or dance 
over his head till the old house trembled. 

Mrs. Leslie is in most respects the opposite of her 
husband. Tall, slender, fragile-looking, with auburn 
hair in which there are more silver threads than in 
the minister’s dark locks — although she is fully ten 
years the younger of the two — and blue, unclouded 
eyes, hers is the face of one who has reached a re- 
gion of perpetual calm ; the face of one, too, it is 
beginning to be whispered in Strathlowrie, not long 
for this world. Mrs. Leslie adores her husband, and 
everybody adores her, Mr. Leslie looks at her wisL 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


11 


fully, but will not allow there is much the matter. 
And she is so bright, though so gentle and so calm, 
that it is almost impossible for even the eyes of love 
to see clearly. Her step has grown painfully slow, 
and sometimes she stops on the stairs to rest; and 
she has a bright spot on each cheek, and a cough that 
tugs at her husband’s heart. But then her smile is 
so reassuring, and her voice so cheerful as she says, 
“ It’s nothing, Robert !” that the minister believes 
that it is nothing, and tells her she is growing daily 
more like the winsome lassie he fell in love with so 
long ago, and that none of the bairns will ever be 
half so bonnie, or any one in the world half so good. 
If the children could only have heard ! 

The supercilious -looking youth in blue glasses 
who figured as Tory’s captor is the minister’s eldest 
son. He is a medical student in Aberdeen, home 
at present for his holidays, and his father’s shrewd 
gray eyes are often quietly taking notes when Rob 
little suspects it. Rob is a good and clever lad, who 
has had his goodness and cleverness made so much 
of that he has become inordinately self -conceited. 
The children, on his return, had received him with 
acclamation, but the very first week had seen them 
turn against him. He reproved the boy’s Scotch, 
remonstrated against their noise, attempted to pull 
their ears, and got his own well pulled in return ; in 
short, stood too much on the dignity of his nineteen 
years. The situation for him was daily becoming 


12 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


more uncomfortable. The disaffection seemed to be 
spreading. The Corner Arabs imitated his walk. 
Daft Geordie, the “ natural” of Strathlowrie, had 
appeared at a funeral in high, stiff collar and blue 
glasses — doubtless furnished by Davie, who thence- 
forth spoke of Geordie as Rob’s twin. But for his 
mother Rob almost thought he would have run away. 

Mrs. Leslie, with true mother’s fondness for the 
eldest son and the father’s namesake, thinks Rob 
perfection, blue glasses and all. “You won’t be 
hard on him ?” she asks, when her husband expresses 
his opinion. “ Hard on him !” laughed the minister. 
“Ho need of that. By the time his vacation is over 
he will have found his level, and that is all he needs.” 
Mrs. Leslie was not quite satisfied ; she thought Rob 
should have the respect of his younger brothers and 
sisters. “ So he should,” said the minister, “ and 
that is just what nobody can force from them. He 
is sure to get it as soon as he deserves it, and we’ll 
even let him fight it out with them. I don’t want 
to see our boy a self-righteous prig.” 

Margaret comes next to Rob. She is tall and 
slender like her mother, but has sandy hair and bad 
complexion and teeth. Mr. Leslie has sometimes rue- 
fully said she must be a changeling, she has devel- 
oped such extraordinary tastes for a daughter of his. 
She has had a passion for gorging her stomach with 
sweets and her mind with exciting novels, and fear- 
ful scenes have been enacted in the Manse when an 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


13 


unexpected search has revealed contraband articles 
of either kind. Stern discipline, or it may be poli- 
cy — the minister thinks the former, of course — has 
at length gained the day. For the last year Marga- 
ret has turned over a new leaf, and lo ! virtue has 
brought its reward ; for her eighteenth birthday, 
just passed, has actually seen her engaged. Marga- 
ret, except for a solitary winter in Edinburgh, has 
never been out of Strathlowrie, yet she has a distin- 
guished air and easy, graceful manners. The old 
maids at the Castle confide to her father that many 
a duchess would envy her carriage, and that her 
swan-like neck is the very image of Lady Cockle- 
oruin’s in the “ Book of Beauty ” for 1800 — the same 
year of grace in which they had been launched into 
society. They more than hint, too, that they think 
her thrown away on young Mr. O’Neil, and refer to 
schemes they have had for having her at the Castle. 
Mr. Leslie says “Tut! tut!” and bluntly declares 
that had Margaret not been engaged, she should have 
been a governess, and assures the old ladies that he 
only hopes young O’Neil may not regret his bargain. 
As for the little girls, who are alternately Margaret’s 
pets and victims, they think it delightful to be on 
such friendly terms with the handsome young min- 
ister, who was always spoken of by Margaret’s inti- 
mates as “so interesting.” But they think him too 
good for such a fate, and whenever they have a 
battle royal with Margaret, their crowning threat 
2 


14 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


is that of writing to Mr. O’Neil and “exposing” 
her. 

Here is faithful, plodding, warm-hearted Colin, 
with unruly yellow hair that makes an unbecoming 
frame for his honest red face. Colin is the plain 
one of the family, and the slow and awkward one, 
but he has a heart of gold, and everybody knows it. 

Davie is like the minister in face — “ wantin’ the 
grace,” Jean tells him. He is, alas ! the scapegrace 
of the Manse. If he appears to be unusually studi- 
ous, be sure that his Greek Testament conceals some 
lighter and tastier trifle. While the rest of the fam- 
ily are “ engaged in the worship of God,” Davie is 
probably, in spite of consequences, throwing a fly at 
the Brownie’s Burn. He puts mice in the little 
girls’ pockets and wasps in their shoes. He breaks 
down on Sunday evenings over “ Effectual Calling,” 
and his memory, though excellent for ghost stories 
or books of travel, is weak for sermons. The most 
terrible deed of Davie’s young life was his dress- 
ing himself in a suit of the minister’s, stuffed out to 
fit, and under cover of the dusk visiting and pray- 
ing with a bedridden parishioner. This was a feat 
whi.ch the minister had forbidden to be ever referred 
to in the Manse. What his punishment had been 
even his brothers and sisters did not know ; but he 
disappeared entirely for a week, towards the end of 
which Nan got a terrible fright by coming suddenly 
upon Colin, red-eyed and red-nosed, sobbing as if his 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


15 


heart would break, and asking Jean, “ Oil ! do ye 
think he can hae drooned him ?” 

The angel bairn, Tory, the reader already knows. 
The minister thought it the very irony of fate that 
had given him one daughter whose neck looked like 
Lady Cockleorum’s in the “ Book of Beauty ” and 
another named Victoria. But Mrs. Leslie’s mother 
had been a Victoria, and so there was nothing to be 
said. Tory’s private opinion was that the name was 
almost worthy of her, and that she was entirely wor- 
thy of the name. 

Nan, Nannie, or Annie, as she is variously called, 
is only an adopted daughter of the Manse. Her 
father, Captain MacDonald, was Mrs. Leslie’s only 
brother, and the greatest, almost the only sorrows 
of the minister’s wife’s life had come through him. 
The soldier was clever, brilliant even, and delight- 
ful, but without principle. He borrowed money 
from relatives who had nothing to spare with one 
hand, and won an easy reputation for generosity by 
flinging it away with the other. He laid himself 
out to captivate where he thought it worth his 
while, and always succeeded ; and then as soon as he 
took a new fancy, or the friend could be of no fur- 
ther use to him, he threw him remorselessly aside. 
The history of his married life no one exactly knew, 
although it was rumored that there had been a final 
separation one short month after the marriage. He 
had married in America, and news in those days trav- 


16 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


elled more slowly from hemisphere to hemisphere. 
Wlist was certain was that Captain MacDonald’s 
death had been sudden — rumors spoke of a duel 
brought about by his own misconduct — and that 
shortly after it his three-year-old daughter was re- 
ceived at the Manse, and given a share of all its 
privileges and penalties. 

Nan was a little pale, old-fashioned-looking child, 
as plain as Tory was beautiful, and so naughty when 
she first arrived that it must have been a real pleas- 
ure for Mr. Leslie to take her in hand. “ I won’t!” 
was an expression he had never heard from one of 
his own flock ; yet this little mite of a thing looked 
him steadily in the eye and said it boldly. Not 
often, however; the opposing forces were too ut- 
terly disproportionate for long resistance. “ Nous 
avous change tout cela!” Mr. Leslie could truth- 
fully say, long before the daj^s on which our story 
opens. 

Not that Nan was always obedient. She had a 
will almost as strong as the minister’s, and from 
time to time she made futile attempts at rebellion. 
But Mr. Leslie’s anxieties on her account — and they 
were many— were not on the score of her self-will. 
Believing that the father’s sins were not only visited 
on, but were reproduced in, the children — or perhaps 
were visited on them by being reproduced in them 
—he watched unceasingly for any trace of those 
qualities which had made him loathe his brother-in- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


17 


law. And from time to time he saw enough to 
trouble him. If in the Manse Nan learned the in- 
conveniences of poverty, she had also opportunity 
for learning the beauty and the dignity of economy ; 
but it was a lesson she seemed quite incapable of 
understanding. When the children got a shilling 
at once, which happened but rarely, Mr. Leslie liked 
to test them by letting each dispose of it as he or 
she liked. The young Leslies, who, though prudent, 
were not at all selfish, generally began by the pur- 
chase of a small paper of peppermints for papa 
(there used to be some occult connection between 
Presbyterianism and peppermints !) and something 
less strong -smelling for mamma; then they in- 
dulged in some long coveted little dainty for them- 
selves, perhaps ; but they always kept a reserve fund 
which they might draw on for weeks after. Not 
so Nan. Her money literally burned holes in her 
pocket. She was quite capable of laying the whole 
of it out on a present, and when she gave, she gave 
with a willing heart. But, on the other hand, she 
was just as capable of frittering it away in penny- 
worths and half -pennyworths of things that were 
eaten at once or given to the first child she met; 
and in any case she was sure never to have a pen- 
ny left at night. Mr. Leslie felt she did not buy 
mainly either for the pleasure of giving or having, but 
simply for the pleasure of spending. It was a passion 
with her, just as gambling is with some older people. 


18 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

Mr. Leslie felt this all the more that Nan had 
managed to creep into a very warm corner of his 
heart. The child had a generous nature, she was 
cleverer than any of her cousins, and what she un- 
dertook, she did with an earnestness worthy of the 
minister himself. But then she soon tired of things. 
It was almost a misfortune, Mr. Leslie thought, that 
she could do so many things well. When, think- 
ing to give a pleasant surprise, she produced her 
first verses — she and Tory called and thought them 
poetry — she was astonished at the pained look 
that came across her uncle’s face. Verse- making 
had been one of the accomplishments of Captain 
MacDonald. 

Tory and Nan were great friends. They had their 
little tiffs, as the best of friends will have, but these 
were not frequent. Union is strength, and the pair 
needed all the strength they could muster in mak- 
ing a stand against Davie, their common foe. 

The solitary servant of the Manse, in right of her 
long and faithful service, claims all the privileges 
and takes all the liberties of her class. She rules 
every one in the house except the minister, and even 
to him she has been known to “ speak back.” She 
has a shrill voice, which in the singing at worship 
she pitches so high it might readily be mistaken for 
the bagpipes. Earlier in their acquaintance the min- 
ister decided that not nature but vanity had prompt- 
ed such a performance, and made up his mind to re- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


19 


monstrate with her. So, calling her into the study 
one day, he gravely began, “ I cannot say I like your 
voice, Jean — ” He got no further. “Dae ye no, 
sir ? Weel, I canna say I like yours ; but we’re baitli 
as the Lord made us. I hae a teenor skirl and ye 
hae a bass grumph.” 

The great, ungainly, but sagacious-looking cur at 
Davie’s side is a bone of contention between Jean 
and the children. Jean hates Kelpie, Kelpie hates 
Jean, but neither dares molest the other. Once 
on a time there was active hostility between them. 
After a series of “skirls” that brought not only the 
whole household, but a goodly contingent from “ the 
Corner ” to the kitchen, Jean displayed a leg in which 
there were too evident marks of Kelpie’s teeth hav- 
ing met. Kelpie being called upon to answer (the 
minister always heard both sides), looked unuttera- 
ble things, and fortunately his protector was there to 
answer for him. “ She plotted [scalded] him !” cried 
Davie. Jean could not deny it. * “ Then you’re well 
served,” decided the judge. Active war ceased, but 
the armed truce that followed entailed a good deal 
of responsibility on the children. When they held 
their masquerades in the attic Kelpie was always 
one of the principal performers; but as it was a 
law that his paw-marks must not appear on the stair, 
and Jean’s eyes were microscopical in detecting 
traces of him, Tory and Kan generally carried him 
up between them. Kelpie, who perfectly understood 


20 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

the situation, would slip on tiptoe to the starting- 
point, and would not have uttered a bark for anj 
consideration. The children, who credited Kelpie 
with every good quality, averred that he thoughtfully 
tried to make himself light, and in proof of this 
pointed to his agonized expression. But the minis- 
ter dryly observed that he would be a less sagacious 
dog than he was if he failed to look agonized while 
his fore-legs were in the grasp of one child and his 
hind-legs in that of another — his long yellow body, 
back downward, swinging wildly between. 


CHAPTER II. 


But the psalm is sung; the long chapter, in which 
every child takes a part, read ; the prayer, in which 
each one’s needs are remembered, offered ; and the 
family are gathered at breakfast. Equipage and fare 
are alike simple: brimming plates of porridge, por- 
ringers of every size and hue, and an immense jng 
of milk. Mrs. Leslie’s tray no longer graces the 
board, for the minister has insisted that the cup of 
tea and morsel of toast shall be taken in bed. So 
the wife and mother sits near, but not at, the table, 
and in place of plate and spoon she has a sock of 
Davie’s and a darning-needle. 

“ Papa,” says Rob, critically^, “ you are thrown 
away on Strathlowrie. I listened carefully to the 
sermon yesterday, and it was really better than any 
I have heard since I left — with the exception, per- 
haps, of Dr. MacRoarer’s. The poetical passages 
were beautiful — though I would scarcely have treat- 
ed the subject as you did.” 

The children stared. They knew Rob was a cool 
hand, but this was beyond anything. Why, it was 
the clay turning and criticising the potter. 


22 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Honest Colin was the first to find a voice. 
“ Crick — ” he began, but stopped the forbidden ex- 
pletive just in time. “ — ey !” finished Davie, and 
got a fillip for his pains. 

The shrewd gray eyes twinkled. u Ne sutor ultra 
crepidam ,” said he. “ I would scarcely have treated 
Andrewina as you did.” 

Rob reddened. The washer-woman, with rash faith 
in his power, had consulted him as to her “ hoast,” 
and the budding doctor had given her a plaster that 
flayed her chest but left the cough untouched. 

“ Losh !” exclaimed Jean, who had just come in 
with more porridge, “ he’s gaun gyte ! ‘ Much learn- 
ing hath made him mad.’ ” 

“ Jean,” said Mr. Leslie, “ I have forbidden the 
children to use such words, and I will not allow you 
to use them in their hearing. Losh is just a corrup- 
tion of a sacred name, and therefore unfit for a pro- 
fessing Christian to take upon her lips, being no bet- 
ter than profane swearing.” 

“ Eh, sir, it wad amaist mak’ a body profane sweer. 
Tae think I hae skelpit him mony a time, an’ noo lie’s 
cockin’ hissel’ up to fin’ faut wi’ the minister! Lad,’ 5 
Jean viciously added, turning to the culprit, “ I wish 
I had skelpit ye mail- !” 

“ Hear, hear !” cried Davie. Poor Rob ! Crim- 
son with rage and mortification, he could have flown 
at the whole tribe of his tormentors, who laughed, 
shouted, and clapped their hands, till Mr. Leslie, see- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


23 


ing that his wife was suffering as much as Rob, ex- 
claimed, “ Silence !” 

“I should really think, Rob,” put in Margaret, 
with all the dignity of one engaged, “ that you would 
remember the respect due to a minister — any minis- 
ter of the Gospel.” 

“ Any minister,” said Davie. “ H’m, that means 
the Reverend Hugh O’Neil, M.A.” Then drawing 
what appeared to be a letter from his pocket, and 
managing to drop a bit of heather ostentatiously on 
the table-cloth, he read aloud : 

“‘Me prospects are good. Me father is ould and 
rich, and I have no sisters at all, at all, and no broth- 
er but raesilf.’ ” The passage was a paraphrase of one 
read by Margaret to her bosom friend Sophy Camp- 
bell the evening before. 

Then Davie kissed the heather rapturously and 
fled, Margaret, like one possessed, in pursuit. Co- 
lin, who had followed, came back presently to report 
progress. “ They were tearing along the sands,” he 
said, “ and though nobody could catch Davie, Mar- 
garet’s long legs were doing wonders.” 

“ It is very undignified,” observed Tory ; “ I wish 
Mr. O’Neil could see her.” Then, reflecting on her 
own morning’s work, she had the grace to blush. 

“ It was only Davie’s Greek exercise,” said Colin, 
“and he took the heather out of a besom. But he 
was under the sofa in the parlor when Sophy Camp- 
bell was here.” 


24 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“ That was not honorable,” said the gentle voice 
of Mrs. Leslie, “and Davie must never do it again.” 

“If he does,” added the minister, “I will take a 
dealing with him.” 

Bob, thankful to have escaped, had taken a low 
stool beside his mother, and the latter was explain- 
ing to him what the minister had so often told her, 
that it was Strathlowrie that had made him poetical, 
and that he would not leave it for the world. 

“Of course there is something in papa’s mind that 
corresponds to what he sees and hears,” said Mrs. Les- 
lie. “ But having that to begin with, what could call 
it out like Strathlowrie? Often in the sermon I 
say to myself, * That’s our high tide !’ ‘ That’s our 

sunset!’ ‘ That’s the purple on our own hills!’ Ah, 
it is a beautiful place !” she cried. “ It has been our 
home for twenty years, and I think it would break 
my heart to leave it, except — ” 

“Except for what, mamma?” said Bob, eagerly. 
In his estimation a city church, where his father 
would be sure to make a sensation, would outweigh 
all the beauties of nature the globe contained. 

“Except for the fairer country, which is our true 
home.” And Mrs. Leslie kissed her boy and rose to 
follow her husband to the study. There she liked 
best to sit — near the window, looking out now and 
then on the glorious panorama she loved so dearly, 
her needle keeping time to the minister’s flying 
quill. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


25 


Rob was neither selfish nor obtuse. His absence 
had made him more quick to perceive the change in 
Mrs. Leslie, and this morning it seemed more appar- 
ent than ever. Could there be any special meaning 
in her words ? The cough with which she finished 
seemed to accentuate them. His heart felt like lead 
as he heard the slow, labored step on the stairs — a 
pause at every stone, a long rest half-way up. He 
longed to rush after her, to throw himself at her feet, 
to lay his head in her lap as he used to do in his 
childish troubles — that now seemed so infinitesimal- 
ly small and such ages off — and pour forth all his 
heart-breaking sorrow and love. As the study door 
closed he seized his hat and rushed out into the 
bright sunshine and cool fresh air. 

How unhappy he was ! and yet how unchanged 
was everything about him ! The mist had risen from 
the sea, which, except for the grand waves on the 
beach, was like glass. Far to the right was the old 
castle of the Macalasters, and near it he could see 
Strathlowrie river joining the ocean. To the left 
were the hills on which his mother’s eyes were even 
then resting — cultivated near the town, barren fur- 
ther off ; hills on which played wonderful lights and 
shadows all day long, which reflected the gold and 
crimson of the sunset, and clothed themselves in deep 
right royal purple when the sunset had faded; hills 
under which were spacious caves, each with a legend 
of its own — caves with beautiful pebbly floors and 


26 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

cool dripping walls, and clear pools in which wonder- 
ful sea-anemones fixed themselves. And far away, 
showing blue and misty in the distance, was the isl- 
and where Margaret’s Irish lover was settled — bet- 
ter to look at from a safe stand-point on the main- 
land, Rob thought, than to live in. Rob was rather 
tired of hearing “ Isle of Beauty” constantly sung 
by Margaret’s not too melodious voice, and both the 
isle and the Reverend Hugh had in his opinion suf- 
fered in consequence. 

The unchanged aspect of nature was reassuring. 
Death was still for Rob, as for the other children of 
the Manse, something which must happen to every- 
body, but which, within any given time, would never, 
could never, happen to any one of the home circle. 
And yet Rob felt a vague disquiet, and a longing for 
sympathy, and a wish to be on better terms with 
everybody. And while his heart was thus softened 
a sudden turn of the rocks (he was on the braes 
above the sea) showed him Nan sitting quite alone, 
and apparently lost in thought. They were all ac- 
customed to Nan’s queer ways and inconstant moods. 
Either she was in the wildest spirits — the leader, after 
Davie, of the fun — or she was sitting silent, with a 
far-off look in the intelligent eyes that were the re- 
deeming feature in her plain face, or wandering off 
alone, feasting her eyes and mind on the beauties 
Mrs. Leslie loved, but indulging not the calm pleas- 
ure of her aunt, but the passionate rapture of a nat- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


27 


ure at once strong and erratic. “ What are you doing, 
Nan ?” the minister would ask ; and the answer was 
always the same : “ Oh, Fm just wondering.” Pressed 
on one occasion to say what she was wondering about, 
she said, after a moment’s reflection, “ I’m not won- 
dering; I’m just feeling.” And again asked what 
she was feeling, she said, “ Oh, I feel as if my heart 
would burst and then she sobbed as if it would. 

Rob had almost made up his mind to attempt to 
conciliate the children. Here was a chance to take 
one at a time. But Nan had a fiery tongue as well 
as a fiery heart, and might meet his overtures with 
scorn. Thinking thus, Rob was somewhat relieved 
to recognize the far-off look in the eyes that turned 
upon him as he approached, without appearing to see 
him ; or, as the minister would say, that saw without 
perceiving him. 

“ What are you doing, Nan ?” said Rob, kindly. 

“Oh, I’m just wondering,” answered Nan, as she 
woke up from her fit of thought. 

“ And what are you wondering about ?” 

“I’m wondering about the King’s daughter.” 

“ The King’s daughter !” echoed Rob ; “ I think 
you must mean the Queen’s daughter. And which 
of them would you like to be ?” 

“ I don’t mean the Queen’s daughter ; I mean the 
King’s daughter that papa preached about.” Nan 
said papa and mamma just like the others. 

“ Oh !” and Rob became at once uneasy and inter- 


28 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


ested : uneasy that the dreaded subject was brought 
up again ; interested in any child that would go off 
alone among the hills to think over a sermon. 

Mr. Leslie was lecturing on the forty-fifth psalm, 
and partly the beautiful psalm itself, and partly the 
minister’s interpretation of it, had caught Nan’s po- 
etic imagination. They had reached, the day be- 
fore, the verse, “ The King’s daughter is all glori- 
ous within : her clothing is of wrought gold.” Nan 
had not understood, but she had idealized. Half 
hidden in the darkest corner of the high, wide pew, 
her eager face motionless against the faded crimson 
hangings, her glowing eyes fixed upon the preacher, 
she had seen at once less and more than had been 
intended. She had a vision of a sunnier land than 
dark, melancholy, though dearly loved Scotland — a 
land of gorgeous coloring and tropic warmth and 
fulness. And throned in this fair country, she had 
pictured the beautiful young princess — like Tory, 
perhaps, but dark and regal instead of fair and 
angelic, and clothed in purple and fine linen, and 
gold and jewels. This was what Nan saw ; and even 
thus the lot of the King’s daughter seemed to have 
fallen in pleasant places; but at the same time she 
dimly comprehended there was something she did 
not see which enhanced the happiness and the glory. 

But Nan never liked the trouble of putting her 
thoughts into words; and had she expressed them, 
they would have been an unknown language to mat- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


29 


ter-of-faet Rob. So the latter, with the best inten- 
tions, poured out a dry “ explanation 55 that, as Nan 
said, “ blurred her thoughts 55 and sent her off in 
search of bluebells for mamma. And Rob, a little 
discouraged, took his solitary way to Brownie’s Burn. 

Burn was surely a misnomer for a stream of clear 
fresh water that seemed to issue directly from the 
rock, and after filling the circular basin it had hol- 
lowed out for itself, fell into the sea. When the tide 
was out it could be reached by the sands ; when the 
tide was in it had to be climbed down to from the 
braes above; and a ticklish climb it was. It was a 
favorite spot for young anglers like Davie. As Rob 
neared the place he heard the sound of many voices, 
Davie’s above all the rest. A pile of shoes and 
stockings lay on the edge of the brae, and looking 
over, Rob saw about a dozen boys, his brothers 
among them, sitting on perilous points, their bare 
legs dangling over the waves that dashed against the 
rocks beneath. Rob had quite made up his mind to 
be friendly. What could be a better beginning than 
a practical joke? 

So drawing quickly back out of sight, he possessed 
himself of the entire pile of shoes and stockings, in- 
tending to secrete himself where he might see and 
hear the horror of the boys ; to reappear, of course, 
before the joke had been carried too far. 

Now it so happened, though Rob did not know 
it, that the Brownie’s Burn had, for some misde- 
3 


30 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


meanor, been forbidden to Colin and Davie for a 
week. And as ill-luck would have it, Daft Geordie, 
who always formed a part of Davie’s “ tail,” when 
he could do so without peril to his own precious 
neck, had been lying among the corn watching Hob’s 
movements with the greatest interest. So the mo- 
ment the practical joker was concealed, Geordie stole 
to the edge of the brae, and by means of bits of 
turf, signals, and fearful contortions of his already 
doleful visage, succeeded in bringing the entire party 
up in silence, and showing where the supposed foe 
was concealed. The theory was that Rob had taken 
the articles as evidence to be used against them. The 
surprise of the ambuscade was immediately planned 
and executed. 

Imagine Rob’s feelings when seized from be- 
hind by half a dozen strong hands, while Davie, 
white with passion, appeared in front of him hiss- 
ing “ Talepat !” 

Rob’s good resolutions stood out fairly well. “ Why, 
my dear boys — ” he began — an unlucky beginning 
savoring too much of his seniors, and howled down 
at once. Rob persevered, however, and told his tale. 

“ It’s a lee !” shouted little Archie Campbell. “ It’s 
a lee !” cried all but Colin in chorus. And Davie, 
looking at him with a fine scorn hard to bear from a 
younger brother, said, “ Coward !” 

Rob’s high resolves fled, and with them his Eng- 
lish. “Ye little deevil!” he roared, “I’ll lick ye 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


31 


within an inch o’ your life !” And he broke from 
his tormentors. 

But one, even if a hero, can scarcely lick twelve. 
Rob showered blows on every side, but without ef- 
fect. Again he was seized, and the boys having 
first gagged him, proceeded to hold a council of war. 

By this time Colin had relented, and proposed let- 
ting him off. “ If ye say anither word,” said Davie, 
“ we’ll serve ye the same !” 

The difficulty seemed to be to find something bad 
enough. Daft Geordie, who had viewed the proceed- 
ings with the keenest delight, had a plan. “ Let’s cut 
aff his heid !” 

The sight of Geordie suggested to Davie a punish- 
ment which he thought would touch his brother in the 
tenderest point. Geordie, though a fool, was kept by 
a hard-working mother cleaner than many of a class 
above him. “ Let’s mak’ him and Geordie change 
claes !” 

This was received with acclamation. “ Strip !” 
said Davie to Geordie. No sooner said than done. 

Rob was purple with rage, but never surely was 
rage so impotent. His hat was nowhere to be seen; 
the spectacles had fallen to the ground, and one of 
the blue glasses was gone. Geordie picked the spec- 
tacles up and put them on. 

“ Tak’ aff his collar an’ tie !” cried Davie. It was 
done; and though it was beginning at the wrong 
end, Daft Geordie appropriated the articles at once. 


32 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“ Tak’ aff his coat !” cried Davie again. It was 
done. 

A pause followed. The boys scarcely breathed 
for suspense. Would their Cromwell dare give the 
next order ? 

“ Tak’ aff his breeks !” cried Davie. A shriek of 
delight that rent the air arose. Little Archie Camp- 
bell danced and whooped like a little demon, and 
dancing in the wrong direction, missed his footing 
and disappeared. 

“ Stand off !” thundered Rob, tearing the bandages 
from his mouth ; and reaching the Brownie’s Burn 
in one or two leaps, he threw himself into the sea. 

The boys all knew what the danger was for both ; 
not only, or principally, the strong tide, but the cruel 
sharp rocks that lay beneath ! Never was such a 
transformation scene. Some of the younger ones 
began to cry. Davie was like death. lie held his 
breath and scarcely dared to look ; arid yet he could 
not help looking. His eyes were sharp and his ears 
were keen ; but there was absolutely nothing to be 
seen but the writhing of the waters ; nothing to be 
heard but their dull roar. Poor Davie ! 

Was that a cry at last? Yes — no — yes! Oh, 
thank God ! It is Rob’s voice, and he is actually 
calling Davie. Davie descends at once, but totters 
so that he nearly loses his footing. 

“ Here, Davie ! Here, Ronald Sutherland ! Come 
as near the edge as you can, and keep cool. Take 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


33 


a good gripe of Archie — that’s it ! Now pass him to 
the others and reach me a firm hand.” 

But though Bob’s courage held, his strength, which 
had been a good deal tried before the leap, was ebb- 
ing ; and it is no easy thing to raise yourself up the 
face of a slippery, perpendicular rock with the strong 
tide of a great ocean tugging you back. But for the 
presence of mind of Bonald Sutherland, who jumped 
up to his neck in water in a deep hollow some dis- 
tance back, and bracing himself in it, made the boys 
form a double chain from him to the edge, Bob would 
have died a hero’s death then and there. As it was, 
a few minutes saw them all safe on the brae again — 
Archie Campbell well rubbed under Bob’s direction, 
and both revived by the whiskey got by Davie from 
the nearest cottage. 

Then, and then only, was it noticed that Daft 
Geordie was missing, and with him the upper half 
of Bob’s clothes. Fortunately, Davie’s last order 
had not been executed, and for the rest Bob might 
have had twelve entire suits would they but have 
fitted. But there was nothing large enough among 
the dozen, and so Bob was fain to wrap himself in a 
plaid borrowed from the cottage where they got the 
whiskey. 

But Davie felt, before they started on the home- 
ward run, there was something more to be done. 
“Bob,” said he before them all, “I’m not ashamed 
to beg your pardon. I believe every word you said ; 


34 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


and as for being a coward, there’s nobody I know 
would do what you have done. Man,” said he, re- 
lapsing in his earnestness into Scotch, “ I couldna 
hae dune H myseV 

Could Davie’s praise go further ? “ Hooray !” 

shrieked little Archie Campbell. “ Hooray !” yelled 
an admiring chorus. Rob had won the day. The 
entire party formed a guard of honor to the Manse 
door, and thought it a great thing to shake hands 
with him before they left. 

What Archie’s father and mother said the reader 
may imagine. Before nightfall Rob was the hero 
of Strathlowrie 


CHAPTER III. 


The reader is not to suppose that all was play at 
the Manse, and that every day’s breakfast had for its 
sequel wanderings in search of bluebells, or fishing- 
parties to the Brownie’s Burn. We have opened on 
the first week of the holidays, which the children 
had for their own, with the very reasonable restric- 
tions that they should observe the hours of meals 
and prayers, and every night give an account of the 
day’s proceedings. After these days of grace the 
boys had some lessons with their father, and then for 
at least two hours per diem Colin’s long back and 
Davie’s proud one had to bend over beds of old-fash- 
ioned flowers or long rows of potatoes, while the 
little girls had their needlework or practising, and 
such mild domestic duties as Jean would permit. 
If work was, as Mr. Leslie’s theology taught him, 
the primeval curse, it was also, he fully believed, the 
perennial and universal blessing, a panacea for all the 
ills of life, and not least for that vague discontent 
which will sometimes creep even into Scottish 
Manses. “ Ask your mother to give you a handker- 
chief to hem,” would be his command to Tory and 


36 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Nan, if either of these young persons looked de- 
pressed in his presence. If the desired article in its 
unfinished state could not be produced, to pull his 
own from his pocket, tear the hem off, and toss it to 
the woe-begone one, was scarcely the work of an in- 
stant. The remedy was truly magical in its effect, 
and like most beneficent things had even a wider in- 
fluence than the author intended. If there was any- 
thing that put Davie in a state of jubilation it was 
to see the angel bairn set down to what she disdain- 
fully called a “ snuffy one,” and forced to smile and 
handle it as if she liked, not loathed, it. On the other 
hand, when Master Davie’s dark hour was upon him, 
and the uprooting of dandelions was the prescrip- 
tion, Tory was sure to be taking the air near the 
scene of penance. 

We left the minister and his wife in the study, but 
their morning was not to be an uninterrupted one. 
A gorgeous yellow chariot deposited a pair of ancient 
ladies at the Manse door, and Jean announced “Miss 
Macalaster and Miss Grizzell, mem.” Jean said this 
inconsequently, as if the yellow chariot were in the 
habit of driving up twice or thrice a day; but her 
mien, which was that of a turkey-cock with its tail 
spread and its crest up, bewrayed her. 

The Macalasters of Strath lowrie were gentry of 
the old stamp, such as you may read of any day in 
the delightful pages of Dean Ramsay. Miss Macal- 
aster, besides the glory of wealth and family, had 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


37 


that of being one of the oldest inhabitants. She 
would be eighty-one her next birthday, she said ; and 
I assure you she would no more have exaggerated 
her age than yon or I would ours. She took long 
walks and drives while at the Castle ; spent the sea- 
son in Edinburgh (she had no faith in London) in a 
round of such festivities as the “ gray metropolis of 
the North ” can furnish ; discoursed of “ pictures, 
taste, Shakespeare, and the musical glasses,” and in 
all respects seemed to consider herself in her prime. 
Miss Macalaster had been a beauty in her youth, and 
had preserved from that far-off time a delicate profile 
and sundry little airs and graces. Her head-pieces, 
for height and variety, were just wonderful ; yet 
with their delicate lace and black velvet, and laven- 
der satin and feathers, not unbecoming to the kindly 
face, with its soft peach-like bloom. 

Miss Grizzell Macalaster (Grizzy to her home 
circle) was plain and practical, and ruled her brother 
and sister with a rod of iron. She was what our 
American cousins call a “ brilliant conversationalist,” 
having an unending store of anecdotes — not much to 
boast of in themselves, but made piquant by every 
variety of gesture and grimace. Euphemia was 
Grizzy’s most ardent admirer, and in her presence 
acted the part of a very mild chorus, enhancing the 
fun, or the horror, or the pathos of what was being 
told by a w^eak imitation of her sister’s expressions 
and gestures. The twain were always spoken of 


38 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


collectively. They painted, they played, they sang, 
they were so interesting in conversation. They were 
even well or ill; for the house-keeper having been 
hastily summoned on one occasion by a new maid to 
“do something for her lady’s cramp colic,” rushed 
in to find them locked in each other’s arms, rolling 
over and over in the bed, both apparently writhing 
in agony, so that the good Samaritan was fain to 
stand helpless, mustard -plaster in hand, unable to 
discern between the stomach of the sufferer and that 
of the sympathizer. Miss Grizzell had a way of 
dropping her voice in the jolliest story when she 
happened to mention “ poor mamma,” which always 
gave a stranger the idea of recent and untimely 
orphanhood ; yet Lady Macalaster had slept the sleep 
of the just for half a century. 

On the principle of counterparts probably Miss 
Grizzell and Mrs. Leslie were great friends, while 
sentimental Miss Macalaster admired the brusque, in- 
dependent minister. The Macalasters were nominal- 
ly Episcopalians, but were generally to be found 
among Mr. Leslie’s hearers, taking no offence even 
when they heard “popery and prelacy” coupled to- 
gether to receive the outpouring of the same phial of 
eloquence and wrath. Miss Macalaster kept the 
study supplied with more delicate flowers than the 
Manse garden furnished, and with delicate vases to 
hold them. She sent a dressing-gown (an article 
which Mr. Leslie scorned) every New-year’s Day, a 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


39 


pair of slippers every six months, and a book-mark 
frequently. The last generally bore some legend 
appropriate to the circumstances that had called it 
forth ; thus, 

“ And like unto a clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, ” 

would have reference to a specially admired sermon ; 
while, 

“ Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 

Nor in the glistening foil 

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies,” 

would be a reminder of a city call promptly rejected. 
It has been said that if English history were lost you 
could rewrite it from a study of the English lan- 
guage. If Mr. Leslie’s history had been lost, it might 
have been rewritten from Miss Macalaster’s book- 
marks. 

The Macalasters had come tins morning on kind- 
est thoughts intent. They observed with clearer 
eyes than Mr. Leslie’s the change in his wife; and 
though they saw no immediate cause for alarm, they 
thought there should be immediate action, and spe- 
cially change of air ; and knowing that the minister 
had spoken of sending her to his nephew, a medical 
man settled in a pretty cottage in the country twen- 
ty miles away, they came to say that Sir Alaster was 
going in that direction on business, and would drive 
Mrs. Leslie down himself. “ And you know my 


40 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


brother’s business is never so pressing that a day or 
two makes any difference,” said Miss Grizzell, kind- 
ly; “so just choose your own time.” 

“It is just like Sir Alaster’s kindness,” said the 
minister, warmly, “ and I’m sure Mrs. Leslie will 
be—” 

“ Oh, Robert,” broke in Mrs. Leslie, “ don’t ask it ! 
Sir Alaster is kindness itself/and so are you,” she 
added, turning to the ladies, “ but it is impossible for 
me to leave home just now.” 

“ My dear,” remonstrated the minister, “ you could 
not have a better time. A little responsibility will 
be good practice for Margaret, and I will try to be 
mother as well as father. It is not an offer we should 
decline.” 

“ And Sir Alaster thinks so highly of young Dr. 
Leslie ; and Saunders at The Mains farm is to Seep 
the cottage supplied with plenty of milk and cream 
and fresh eggs. And — ” 

“And everything that could cure me, or spoil me,” 
said Mrs. Leslie, smiling through grateful tears. “ It 
is only that I cannot leave home just now. I cannot, 
I cannot.” 

Just then the parlor door was thrown wide open, 
and Daft Geordie appeared — a sight to make Miss 
Macalaster cover her eyes and give what Jean would 
call a “skreigh long- tailed coat, high collar, the blue 
glass still covering one vacant eye, his nether extrem- 
ities in a state of nature. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


41 


“ Minister,” he panted, “ here’s a j udgment ! Roab 
Leshlie’s murdered wee Archie Cawmell. We’ll hae 
a braw bangin’ in Stra’lowrie !” 

The minister turned hastily to his wife, and just in 
season. For the first time in her life Mrs. Leslie had 
fainted. 


CHAPTER IV. 


The second forenoon after this eventful day saw 
the yellow chariot again at the Manse door — this time 
to bear away Mrs. Leslie. The fainting fit had been 
soon over, and almost before it was, Archie Camp- 
bell’s shrill “ hooray !” had piped the advent of her 
boys — Davie brimming over with the true version of 
the story; but all the same the fainting fit had settled 
the matter. 

For the first time in all their twenty years of mar- 
ried life, Mrs. Leslie protested against her husband’s 
decree, and kept protesting till at length the minis- 
ter got annoyed, and intimated as curtly as though 
he had been speaking to a self-willed child that the 
matter was settled. Then Mrs. Leslie said no more. 

But what could make her, in the twilight of the 
Tuesday, exhaust her little remaining strength by 
wandering into every room, even up to the haunted 
attic? Very pale she looked after it, and perhaps a 
little grave, yet the smile came readily in reply to 
the children’s entreaties for frequent letters, promises 
to be good, and happy anticipations of mamma com- 
ing home quite well Margaret, it had been settled, 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


43 


was to go with her — an arrangement by no means 
unwelcome to the little girls. 

The Macalasters -had indeed been kindness itself. 
Finding Mrs. Leslie weaker than they expected, they 
had substituted the chariot for the dog-cart, and Miss 
Grizzell was going down with her brother to Castle- 
main. Sir Alaster was not so old as his. sisters by ten 
or fifteen years, and yet to the Manse children he 
seemed a very old gentleman, indeed, with his snowy 
white hair, swallow-tailed coat, nankeen vest, and pon- 
derous, old-fashioned courtesy. It was a proud mo- 
ment (we had almost, forgetting her engagement, said 
the proudest moment) in Margaret’s life when, oppo- 
site Miss Grizzell and beside the baronet, she drove 
past the throng at the Corner and through Strathlow- 
rie. At the very last Mrs. Leslie’s calm had for a 
moment given way, and rising in the carriage, and 
leaning towards her husband, she had implored, 
“ Robert, let me stay at home yet !” The minister 
was annoyed. “ This is childish !” he exclaimed, im- 
patiently, and signing to the coachman to drive on, 
he turned into the Manse ere the carriage had well 
begun to move; so that Mrs. Leslie took with her the 
thought of almost the first impatient glance and word 
she had ever had from her husband, and left in re- 
turn the memory of a look that almost broke the 
strong man’s heart. 

But not yet. Mr. Leslie never troubled his head 
about what he considered nervous fancies, even if 


44 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


they were those of his own wife. The shepherd, of 
Elster Head had been to the Manse the evening be- 
fore, and had been sent for to the study. And now 
the secret was out ! They were to have a picnic, 
and a long, happy day on the moors, with a feast of 
curds and cream from the shepherd’s cottage. Sophy 
and Archie Campbell were to be of the party. Sophy 
was to be the little mother, Mr. Leslie said. 

Jean grumbled as much as she dared, but in her 
heart rejoiced. She would make a day of it, she de- 
cided, but was in a strait between two — being partly 
inclined to have Andrewina in and tramp blank- 
ets, and partly to tie up her face as if she had tooth- 
ache — her doleful custom on high days and holi- 
days — and sit down to tears and Pollok’s “ Course 
of Time.” The glories of her mistress’s departure in 
the yellow chariot decided it; she must tell it or die. 

But where was Nan ? No one had seen her since 
Mrs. Leslie went. Jean searched the house — “ but an’ 
ben, frae garret tae neuk,” she said, but all in vain. 
It was Kelpie that found her at last, lying in the long 
grass of the slope they dignified with the name of 
the outer garden, and sobbing as if her heart would 
break. 

The minister was unusually kind, but would not 
delay a minute even to wash the tear-stained face. 
“The air will do you more good than the w r ater,” he 
said, “ and you can wash it in the first burn.” 

But Tory was shocked, and inclined to be cross 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 45 

with Nan. “ People will suppose you have had a 
whipping,” she said. 

“Weel,” suggested Jean, “ that’s easy set rielit. 
Jist say that Nan hasna had a wheepin’ for a lang 
time, but that ye had a gran’ ane yersel’ nae langer 
ago than yesterday.” 

But Tory presently had her revenge. “ Davie,” 
said the minister, “ I don’t feel sure about Kelpie 
with old Donald’s sheep. He must be left with 
Jean.” 

“ Wi’ me!” cried Jean. “ Gude save us, sir! I 
wadna bide wi’liim alane to be Sir Alaster himsel’. 
The beast’s no canny. Kelpie by name and Kelpie 
by natur’.” 

“ He has a fine memory, Jean,” said Davie. “ He 
minds the plottin’.” 

But Kelpie had settled the matter for himself. 
We have all seen dogs laugh. Kelpie had been on a 
broad grin ever since he heard of the expedition, 
until the fatal decree against him went forth ; then 
never was such a piteous change. The next moment 
Kelpie had disappeared. 

“ Never mind, Jean,” was Davie’s consoling fare- 
well ; “ we’ll send him back to you. He’ll get liame 
jist aboot the time you and Andrewina have kilted 
your coats an’ got into the tubs. Fower bare legs 
will be to him what Margaret ca’s an eiiibarras cle 
richesses. But Kelpie’s no fickle, an’ he kens yours 
best.” 


4 


46 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


The minister never preached except in the pulpit, 
but he was always teaching ; and, as I have said, 
he taught so insensibly that the children forgot he 
was teaching, and never thought him tedious or dry. 
Margaret’s friends considered it a great treat to be of 
a walking party with him, and Sophy Campbell was 
a favorite at the Manse. So across the sands and 
over the braes they went ; past the scene of Mon- 
day’s adventure, about which Mr. Leslie would allow 
no joking; past the familiar landmarks of every- 
day walks — banks where wild-thyme grew, favorite 
haunts of early primroses, or lingering violets, or great 
ox-eyed daisies ; out on the moors, with 

“ Naught anear but golden broom 
And a waste of reedy rills, ” 

and 

“Naught afar but the fine gloom 
O’ the rare blue hills.” 

The children were here, there, everywhere ; as 
ready to ask questions as the minister to answer, but 
not always waiting to hear the answer. But Sophy 
kept near the minister, and Bob kept near Sophy, 
and Nan, much to Tory’s disgust, slipped one hand 
into her uncle’s and the other into Sophy’s. 

Need I tell you that long before our party arrived 
at the shepherd’s the truant Kelpie had appeared — 
so overjoyed at what he made believe was an un- 
expected pleasure, so respectful to the minister, so 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


47 


friendly with the collies on duty among the hills, 
so innocent of any intention to convert their woolly 
charges into mutton, that not a word was said about 
their parting company. 

And now at last, guided by the blue peat-smoke, 
they near the thatched cottage far out in the head- 
land, miles away from any other human habitation. 
And there is old Donald in plaid and blue bonnet, 
his staff in one hand, a bunch of white heather in 
the other, and a magnificent golden-brown collie by 
his side. He gives the heather to the minister as in 
duty bound, but is not ill-pleased when it is trans- 
ferred to Sophy. White heather mfeans good-fort- 
une, they all know, so each has a sprig of it for 
luck. And old Donald looks on smiling, holding 
his bonnet in his hand now, and stroking his gray 
locks. The children see Merron at the cottage door, 
and have a final race in which Kelpie and Laddie, 
who have rubbed noses amicably, take part, and by 
upsetting Davie, win. Merron has just such a dear 
old face, and wears just such a close white mutch 
as you see every year in “ Interiors 55 painted by 
A. R. S. A.’s who spend their summers in the high- 
lands. How the mutch keeps white for a moment 
and the complexion rosy for so many years in the 
peat -smoke is indeed a mystery. The people in 
the Reverend Hugh’s island have also a plague of 
smoke, but then they have the skin and complexion 
of red herrings. 


48 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


And now' comes the event of the day — the lunch- 
eon. Think not that though it takes place so near 
the cottage they are debarred the pleasure of a pic- 
nic’s crowning charm — a tire in gypsy fashion. The 
kettle is hung on three sticks — wreckage, of course, 
for there is no other wood at Elster Head ; the turf 
is ready set, and Sophy has the honor of applying 
the match. The fire blazes merrily — a sure sign 
that Miss Campbell will make a good wife, Donald 
says; at which innocent remark Rob, not Sophy, 
blushes. 

And now, you who cannot conceive a picnic with- 
out its game -pie and its foie gras , and its mayon- 
naise and its champagne, come and see what simple 
fare may go to the making of strong muscles and 
sound minds and healthy, happy human nature. 
Simple as it is, it is an unwonted treat to the Manse 
children ; they do not have fowl, or, for that matter, 
meat of any kind, every day. Sophy’s pair of chick- 
ens occupies the place of honor. Sophy had brought 
a fine tart, too ; but they agree — so simultaneously 
that no one knows who proposed it — to present it, 
with the tea and snuff from the Manse, to Donald 
and, Merron, who live where not even a gooseberry 
will grow, and who never dream of such a luxury 
as wheaten flour. There had been sandwiches from 
the Manse — no crustless wafer-like morsels, but great 
pieces of barley scone, with anything Jean could 
find thrust in between — and a store of hard-boiled 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


49 


eggs; but — to save Merron’s feelings, the children 
said — these had been devoured en route . So now 
Donald and Merron are in their glory as they put 
on the board — that is, the heather covered with a 
snowy cloth — great brown dishes of perfect curds; 
jugs of foaming milk and yellow cream ; cold barley 
scones, thick and substantial; barley scones hot from 
the girdle; sowan scones, thin and delicate; potato 
scones ; cream cakes — that is, oat cakes made with 
cream; golden butter in pats; “ crowdie-butter ” in 
rolls: everything the “shilpit” looking animals on 
yonder hill-side could supply or their mistress’s lov- 
ing heart could devise. The best of all, in the chil- 
dren’s opinion, was that the curds and cream were 
eaten with horn spoons. And last, Merron “ masks” 
some of the tea they have brought her, and every- 
body has a cup, even the minister, who generally 
thinks but little of tea. 

And the boys go off in a boat with old Donald to 
the Warlock’s Crag — once a part of the main-land, 
but now a solitary peak, from which, as the boat 
approaches, thousands of sea-birds rise screaming. 
Donald has been gathering a store of eggs for the 
boys, and shells and snowy wings for the girls, in a 
safe crevice of the Crag ; and now he brings the boys 
as innocently upon it as if it were as great a surprise 
to him as to them. And Sophy goes with Tory and 
Nan in search of blaeberries, while the minister has 
a crack with Merron. It is a happy, happy day ! 


50 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


And yet there has been one sad little heart among 
the joyful ones. Nan knows that her uncle hates 
tears, and she has kept hers back bravely. But 
when Tory runs to see if the boat is coming, and 
kind Sophy looks so tenderly at her, and putting 
her arm about her draws her closely to her side, the 
torrent breaks its boundaries ; the aching head is laid 
in the lap of the sympathizing “ little mother,” and 
Nan cries as she had never cried in her life. 

Is it because Mrs. Leslie has gone ? That is only 
a small part of the grief. Nan is crying for so many 
things she cannot explain. There was a memory of 
the wistful look, of the gentle smile, of the painful 
cough, of the lagging step. Strange to say, these had 
all impressed Nan as they had not impressed Mrs. 
Leslie’s own children, or even her husband. But 
Nan had even a deeper sorrow. 

The heart that is old enough or warm enough to 
desire mother-love will always be acute enough to 
discover if what is offered to it be not the genuine 
article. “ What a fortunate child !” said everybody 
in Strathlowrie of Nan, hearing her say papa and 
mamma with the others, and seeing how entirely she 
seemed to the minister and his wife as one of their 
own. Nan appreciated her good-fortune as far as it 
went, but she knew better than any one else did 
how far that was. She knew that to the minister 
she was as near and dear as one not really his own 
child could be ; but she knew also that between her 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


51 


and the aunt, whom everybody loved and thought 
angelic in her goodness, there was a gulf, not the 
less deep and dividing that no one but themselves — 
not even the minister — dreamed of it. In material 
comfort Mrs. Leslie would not for the world have 
made a hair’s-breadth of difference between the two 
children. There were people in Strathlowrie who 
wondered that the penniless orphan was sent to the 
same school as Margaret and Tory, sharing even the 
extras which her cousins would never have had, but 
that Mr. Leslie’s bachelor brother in Aberdeen had 
insisted on paying for them. They might have won- 
dered more had they known of certain scraps of 
writing possessed by Mr. Leslie, beginning with the 
mystic characters IOU, and signed “ Alan MacDon- 
ald.” There were people who gave gentle hints that 
no one would consider it an injustice if Tory had a 
new blue gingham without Nan having a new pink 
one, and that the little orphan would not be ill off if 
she got Tory’s frocks second-hand. Mr. Leslie frown- 
ed severely on such meddlers and gave them a piece 
of his mind, and Mrs. Leslie quietly said that Nan 
was her brother’s daughter. 

So she was. And was that then not only the cause 
of her care of Nan’s person and mind, but the secret, 
too, of her want of response to the child’s affection ? 
How Nan Qnvied Tory ! How sweet it must be to 
be taken into Mrs. Leslie’s arms and looked at so fond- 
ly, and kissed with the passionate kisses Nan so ardent- 


52 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

Oa 

ly longed for but never received ! Poor little Kan 
knew nothing of her father’s sins ; and had she known 
she would never have connected them with herself. 
“ Visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children ” 
was something she ran glibly over in the catechism ; 
but to the meaning of this she never gave thought. 

And so all through that summer day Kan carried 
a load on her heart till kind Sophy comforted her. 
Kan little knew how often she had been the subject 
of conversation between Margaret and Sophy until 
the young minister became the all-absorbing topic. 
Margaret’s observation was as sharp as her neck was 
long ; and from little remarks dropped by her fa- 
ther, as well as what she saw of Kan’s ways and 
gifts, she had confided to Sophy that she believed 
the child was a genius. Sophy had a great admi- 
ration for geniuses, although she was by no means 
one herself ; and as, in common with many other 
young people, she fancied a genius was a person 
doomed to a lot as gloomy as it was grand, Kan’s 
sadness and tears had seemed quite en regie , though 
she had none the less faithfully tried to banish them. 

And Sophy was successful. Before the party came 
back- from the Warlock’s Crag, or the minister had 
finished his crack with Merron, a gentle melancholy 
had taken the sorrow’s place. How sweet it was to 
be at Sophy’s side, a new understanding between 
them — something Tory knew nothing about — and 
watch the western sky marshal its fiery hosts ! The 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


58 


Manse children were by no means blind to the beau- 
ties of nature ; but Nan had that sixth sense, which is 
possessed by the poet and the artist, of discerning 

“The light that never was on land and sea.” 

She had the artist’s eye and the poet’s quick and 
sensitive imagination. But it is one thing to ap- 
preciate and another to express; and the extent of 
Nan’s gifts was still to be discovered. 

But was it not delightful that, just as she began to 
regret not having made better use of her day, a new 
pleasure should be at hand ? “ What wad ye think, 

sir,” said Donald, “ o’ my takin’ ye a’ hame in the 
boat ? The sea’s like glass, an’ yet there’s wind 
enough to haud.” 

What the young people thought shouts of delight 
told ; and of course consent was given. So there 
were parting libations, and what Merron called “ a 
piece a’ roun’.” And then Merron’s hand was near- 
ly shaken off; and with cheers that made the War- 
lock Crag birds rise like a cloud over them, they 
sailed away. 

And Sophy sang “ Isle of Beauty ;” though wheth- 
er to the Reverend Hugh’s island or the Warlock’s 
Crag, I cannot say. And Tory, dangling her hand 
in the water, wished herself another Undine to call 
up pearls and coral at command. And Nan, who 
had an unending array of What If’s in stock, sat si- 
lent, but not unhappy, building castles in the air: 


54 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

What if those blue and misty islands were the Isl- 
ands of the Blessed ! What if some day she, Nan 
herself, should wander off to seek her fortune, and 
find it and fame together, and, coming back, be taken 
to Mrs. Leslie’s heart as Tory was. 

And then everybody probably thought his or her 
own What If, for deep silence fell upon them all. 
And the light in the western sky grew paler, and the 
hills drew about them their robe of amethyst, and 
the nets of the fishermen slowly rose and fell far off 
on the silver-gray sea. 

And old Donald, tiller and rope in hand, had his 
dream too: “What if the minister was the Maister, 
an’ the Atlantic Ocean was the Sea o’ Galilee !” 


CHAPTER Y. 


“ Well, Jean,” said Mr. Leslie, as the porridge- 
plates were being carried off next morning, “ how 
did you and Andrewina get on with the blankets ?” 

Jean tossed her head. “The blankets is weel 
eneuch,” said she. 

“And is anything the matter with Andrewina?” 

“I’m thinkin’, sir,” said Jean, making an effort 
to speak calmly, “that Andrewina an’ the Manse ’ll 
hae tae pairt company. Dawvit Dick’s a dacent 
body.” 

“But what ails you at Andrewina, Jean? Have 
you quarrelled ?” 

Then Jean’s wrongs were poured forth. Jean 
was in her own sphere as celebrated for anecdote as 
Miss Grizzell Macalaster in hers. For ten years 
Andrewina had been the humblest of her clients, 
the most ardent of her admirers. For ten years, 
weekly, on washing-days, had Andrewina demanded, 
and Jean related, certain standard incidents, in all 
which the narrator had borne a prominent and a 
glorious part. And now the worm had turned ; 
Andrewina had told an anecdote herself. 


56 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


The reader is not to suppose that this is exactly 
Jean’s account of the affair. Her objection, she 
declared, was purely a religious one. Andrewina’ s 
story had been of a “ blas^A^mous ” character. 

Pressed for proof, she gave the anecdote itself. 
Andre wina, it appeared, had further followed Jean’s 
excellent example in making herself the central fig- 
ure. Her nephews, she represented, looked up to 
her as a great Bible authority — a sort of concordance 
and commentary combined. And one of them, 
having got into a controversy with a fellow work- 
man as to a certain passage, had “cried on her to 
come doon the stair and settle Sandy Gordon.” 

The passage, it appeared, was nothing more ob- 
scure than the often quoted one : “ It is easier for a 
camel to go through the eye of a needle,” etc. Sandy 
declared the Bible said nothing of the kind ; that it 
would not say anything so foolish. Then they had 
appealed to Andrewina. 

Andrewina, Jean averred, had stood up “ as brazen 
as a grawven image i’ the second commandment,” and 
had represented herself as saying as follows : 

“I says, ‘Losh! Sandy Gordon, says I, ye’re nae 
better nor a infidel. It dis say a needle, an* a fine 
cawmric needle tae .’ ” 

“ An’ noo, sir,” adds Jean, “if ye doot ma word, 
come into my kitchen an’ I’ll show ye the very spot 
she stood when she said it. An’ whaun ’ll ye hae 
her afore the Kirk Session, sir ?” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


57 


“ Well,” said the minister, “ I must know first 
what punishment she has had already. What did 
you say to her yourself, Jean ?” 

“ Me ! No’ a word, sir ! I jist tell’d her the Bible 
itsel’ had condemned her. I lookit up Revelations, 
twenty-second and auchteenth, an’ I read it tae her. 
An’ then I says to her, 6 Andrewina,’ says I, ‘ye're 
anawthemy maranawthy /’ ” 

“ Why, there’s Cousin Colin’s man !” cried Davie, 
who had been giving his ears to Jean and his eyes 
to the window. 

The minister rose hastily and went to the door. 
“Well, my man,” said he, “I hope you’ve no bad 
news of Mrs. Leslie.” 

“ Oh no, sir — that is, no’ to ca’ bad. Mrs. Leslie 
no’ that weel ; an’ the doacter thocht ye should be 
there. I broclit the gig for ye, and I’ve just put it 
up at The Bull for the beest to get a rnouthfu’.” 

Mr. Leslie was greatly alarmed, but the man per- 
sisted there was no need. It was something about 
the heart, he believed, but Mrs. Leslie was better 
even before he left. 

Then the minister was cheered, and set himself, 
while packing his bag, to cheer the children. He 
stepped over to Mr. Campbell’s and asked a little 
care for his bairns, never left without both parents 
in all their lives before. The children were half 
afraid and wholly excited, but thought everything 
would be right when their father got there. 


58 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Rob and Colin had gone to the country for the 
day. Davie carried his father’s bag to the inn ; so 
that the little girls were left with a sense of mingled 
responsibility and freedom to mitigate their anxiety. 
They went into the garden, but they could not settle 
to play. They would have hovered about Jean, but 
that important personage was moving about with 
suspiciously red eyes, and was more than usually 
short in her speech ; they went up to the attic, but 
it had an eerie feeling. Then, I am sorry to say, 
they did something very naughty. 

The study was an odd little room, like two narrow 
passages set at right angles. The inner part had for 
furniture only the minister’s writing-table and chair 
and Mrs. Leslie’s low seat ; but its walls from ceiling 
to floor were covered with books: books in yellowish 
white vellum, books in ugly brown leather, books 
in Hebrew and Greek, and Latin and English — “all 
about sin,” the children said ; and the subject seemed 
to them more uninviting than ever printed on stained 
musty paper with a long perplexing f. The outer 
part contained a huge unpainted press, in which were 
kept the treasures of the Manse — the best china and 
glass, a small supply of wine, sundry tins of delicate 
biscuits, a slender stock of jam, etc. On sacramental 
occasions the assisting ministers were always the 
guests of the Manse, and the humble dainties stored 
in the study press were such as the last visitors had 
left and the next would finish. The press was locked, 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


59 


but the key was always left in the door. If any 
marauder had ever betrayed the trust, Manse tradi- 
tion had failed to reveal it. 

Flitting from room to room in a listless way, Tory 
and Nan came to the study, and remained — not to 
look at the books, you may be sure, nor at the tar- 
nished medallions hung among them, the texts on 
which were also “all about sin.” Tory “wondered 
if everything was safe in the press,” and thought 
mamma would like them to have an eye on it while 
she was away. Nan agreed. In two minutes they 
w r ere on chairs inspecting the china. 

“And what have we here?” said Tory, lightly 
raising the lid of a tin box. “ Cracknels ! not too 
rich for little girls. Mamma almost always gives us 
one when she is at the press. I think we might have 
one, eh ?” 

Nan had no doubt of it. They had one, two, three. 

“ I suppose these are fancy biscuits,” continued 
Tory ; “ you remember when Colin had measles and 
we were so anxious about him, mamma gave us fancy 
biscuits to cheer us. I am sure if she knew how 
anxious we are to-day she would like us to have a 
taste.” 

Nan was sure of it. They had some. 

“ Dear me !” went on Nan ; “ here is a pot of rhu- 
barb open. Can mamma have forgotten it ? Perhaps 
it is spoiled.” 

There was no appearance of mould ; but as every- 


60 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


body knows appearances are deceitful, and rhubarb 
is apt to ferment, it required several tastes before 
they could quite decide. 

They had just locked the press when there occurred 
a strange thing. The reader will remember that the 
two children were in excellent health, and, thanks to 
their little collation, in good spirits; that exactly the 
same impression was made in both ; and that though 
Nan w r as of a sensitive, impressionable nature, Tory 
had never had a nervous fear or fancy in her life. 

The door into the passage was wide open, so that 
they could hear anything that might occur in any 
part of the house. While Jean rattled her dishes, 
and swept and tidied things, they had heard her as 
distinctly as though they had been in the kitchen 
with her. Then all sounds had ceased. They knew 
as well as if they saw her that she was paring pota- 
toes for dinner. In the silence they heard the town 
clock strike twelve. 

And then there was a sound ; but such a strange, 
mysterious sound that it seemed to deepen rather 
than to break the unnatural hush. 

A step on the stairs ! A slow, weary foot-fall they 
had. learned to know; beginning on the lowest stone 
and coming up, up ; making the long pause in the 
middle, then on again, slowly but surely, till the top 
is gained with that sound distinct from all the others 
— the resonant timbre that marks the transition from 
stone to wood almost lost in the heavy letting down 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


G1 


of the entire weight, as though one step more would 
have been impossible. Tory and Nan are gazing 
speechless into each other’s faces — in no fear at the 
moment, but in great surprise. The usual rest is 
being taken at the top. Will the step come on ? 

No, it comes no farther. Then why do not the 
children run down -stairs as they had intended? 
They do not speak, they do not move. Nan’s hand 
steals into Tory’s. At last they hear Davie’s noisy 
entrance, and, calling him up, they go down with 
him. But not to him, not to Jean, not to each other 
even, do they mention the step they have heard. 

The step that came no more ! Strathlowrie had a 
telegraph, though it was but little used. And in the 
evening there was flashed up the line a message to 
Mr. Campbell: “ Mrs. Leslie died at noon ; break it 
to the children .” 

At noon ! — while the minister, impatient of de- . 
lay, was urging the doctor’s horse as it never had 
been urged before ; yet not quickly enough to banish 
the memory of that last wistful look and of his own 
impatient words. At noon! — when the children 
heard the step on the stair. Oh ! has the disem- 
bodied spirit, ere it enters into rest, power to re- 
visit or linger among the scenes it has loved, and 
take a long, long farewell? If it has, how, having 
laid aside its garb of flesh, is it still discerned by eye 
or ear? Why is it not always viewless, noiseless? 

Ill news flies apace, and half Strathlowrie flocked 
5 


62 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

to the Manse. The terrible truth was felt by the 
children before it had been told in words. For Mrs. 
Campbell came over with her husband and gave sun- 
dry directions, and Andrewina, who had suddenly 
appeared, went over the house, pulling dowm the 
white blinds, shutting out the beautiful sunshine, and 
enclosing them all in a white ghastly stillness, scarce- 
ly broken bj the visitors 7 hushed voices, that could 
be no other than the stillness of death. Tory and 
Nan felt at first almost more excitement than grief — 
how could they understand? — until Jean, rushing in 
upon them with the heart-broken cry, “ Oh, my guid, 
kind, dear mistress! oh, my puir bairns!” opened 
the fountains of their tears. The little girls were 
glad of the company and the sympathy, but Davie 
would have none of them. Throwing himself on 
the sofa in a passion of grief, he turned his face to 
the wall, pulled the pillow over his curly head, and 
bitterly refused to be comforted. % 

In one of her early works a living novelist has 
cleverly portrayed the feeling of self-importance that 
is apt to mingle with a young person’s first grief. 
Tory and Nan were much younger than Miss Majori- 
banks, and it was scarcely possible they should not 
be soothed by the attention they received. Here 
was Miss Macalaster from the Castle, with a dainty 
little basket of fruit and flowers. Here were the 
ministers from the other two Manses come to say 
a kind word and “ engage in prayer” with them. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


63 


Here was dear old Mr. MacGregor, that had been one 
of the elders even before pjjpa came to Strathlowrie, 
staying to have worship. Here was stern Mr. Camp- 
bell actually taking them on his knee, and Mrs. Camp- 
bell making them eat, and Sophy coming to stay all 
night with them. Here were the Hendersons of 
Oaklands and the Camerons of Lowrie House send- 
ing to inquire ; while dining-room and kitchen were 
crowded with members of the congregation. The 
children heard the murmur of sympathy that passed 
like a wave over the kitchen visitors when they went 
out to speak to Donald, who, being in town, had 
heard the news, and hastened to the Manse. How 
strange it was to see the old shepherd again ! But 
twenty-four hours before they had been sailing with 
him over the summer sea. It seemed like hundreds 
of years, the children thought. And then for Nan 
there was the private understanding between her and 
Sophy, and the restfulness of sleeping that night in 
her kind friend’s arms, Tory safe beside them on 
what Jean called a “ shake-down.” 

But, in the dead of night, the little mother was 
awoke by whispers and sobs, and going in their di- 
rection found the children on their knees together 
making confession of the festive doings in the study. 
To Sophy, who had the freedom of all the presses in 
her father’s house, it seemed a very harmless little 
episode ; though, knowing the strictness of Manse 
discipline, she wisely forbore to say so. But she 


64 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


felt free to comfort the pair with promises of the 
minister’s forgiveness, and the emphatic assurance 
that their great loss was not, as their consciences 
had begun to suggest, “ a judgment” on their un- 
lawful indulgence in fancy biscuits and rhubarb 
jam. 

Andrewina was to stay on, Mrs. Campbell had ar- 
ranged ; but Jean, even in her sorrow, had not for- 
given her, and Andrewina’s tears were a fresh of- 
fence. Manifestations of grief should, in Jean’s opin- 
ion, be as finely graduated as mourning, and here was 
Andrewina entirely forgetting her position. Jean’s 
sense of decorum kept her silent for a while ; but 
while she was musing the fire burned, till at the last 
she spake with her tongue : “ What richt hae ye to 
greet and blow yer nose as if ye were ane of oorsels ? 
Get up and put a peat on, ye muckle tawpie !” 

What strange days they were that followed ! The 
funeral was to be from Doctor Leslie’s, so the boys 
went down to their father. Black-bordered sheets 
made their appearance, in which Robert Leslie re- 
quested this one and that to attend the funeral of 
his wife, Margaret MacDonald. Tory pointed out 
to Nan that her father signed himself only “ Your 
obedient servant,” whereas all the other funeral in- 
vitations she had seen were signed “Your most obe- 
dient servant and she explained that the omission 
of the adverb was according to the etiquette laid 
down for persons of the minister’s exalted rank. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUCHTEll. 65 

What struck Nan was the use of her aunt’s maiden 
name, as is the Scottish custom. Her aunt was Mar- 
garet MacDonald, and she was Annie MacDonald : it 
seemed a new and near tie between them. 

Mr. O’Neil came over and preached on the Sun- 
day, and was very kind and brotherly, confirming 
Tory in her private opinion that had she only been 
old enough she would have been much more suita- 
ble for him than Margaret. And then there came 
a day when the largest funeral throng Strathlowrie 
had ever seen brought home all that was mortal of 
the minister’s wife to be laid to rest in their midst. 
The white blind of the passage window was raised 
a little, and Tory and Nan taken up to look at the 
long black train winding through distant streets, 
that they might never forget how even in this world 
goodness is honored. There is in Strathlowrie a 
brand-new cemetery, with brand-new flower-beds 
and graves, and polished granite monuments. Not 
there, thank God ! sleeps the minister’s wife. Close 
to where the river mingles with the sea there is 
an old, old resting-place, where the “ rude forefathers 
of the hamlet” are gathered round a little church, 
rained and roofless, and so old that nobody knows 
who founded it or when it was founded, but bearing 
still the delicate stone tracery of a beautiful east 
window. On the inside of one of these walls is a 
plain tablet of dark stone, 66 Sacred to the memo- 
ry of Margaret MacDonald, wife of the Rev. Robert 


66 


CAPTAIN MACDONALDS DAUGHTER. 


Leslie , 55 and bearing the legend, “ We asked life of 
Thee, and Thou gavest her a long life, even for ever 
and ever . 55 

And when next Nan sat in the corner of the old 
pew — all black now where before it was crimson — 
and the minister, with all the ruddiness gone from 
his face, and all the light, except that of faith, gone 
out of his eye, took up his story where he had left 
it, “She shall be brought unto the King , 55 the child 
needed no explanation. What formerly her im- 
agination had tried to picture, her soul now under- 
stood. The King’s daughter had been brought unto 
the King, and was even then beholding Him in His 
beauty. 


CHAPTER VI. 


The saddest thing about deatli is that it shows us 
so clearly there is no one so great, no one so good, 
that the world cannot get on without them. Things 
may not go on as they did, but they do go on. 

And so life went on at the Manse, though with a 
difference. Everybody was surprised at the change 
in Mr. Leslie. People had always regarded him as 
rather a hard man, incapable of any deep suffering 
through the affections; and yet in a few weeks his 
portly frame was shrunken, his face pale and hag- 
gard, and his black hair changing rapidly to gray. 
There was no bitterness, however, and no brooding. 
The wife was not put away as a memory too pain- 
ful to be alluded to. The children were as constant- 
ly desired to do what their mother would like, even 
in the smallest matters, as if she were still on her 
visit, expected home daily or hourly. Rob took his 
sad heart back to the university. Colin was placed 
in Mr. Campbell’s office without fee, though the law- 
yer might have had cleverer lads able to pay well — 
a boon won for him by the good turn done by Rob. 
People felt most, they said, for Tory and Nan ; and 


G8 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


in order to show their sympathy, paid them so much 
attention that the little girls were in a fair way to be 
utterly spoiled. 

To begin with, the Macalasters had them frequent- 
ly at the Castle to spend the day. It was a peculiar- 
ity of the old ladies that, unless they had some one 
staying with them, each of the sisters kept her pri- 
vate rooms till the evening, meeting only at meals. 
When the children went they spent the morning 
with Miss Macalaster, and the afternoon with Miss 
Grizzell — thus having all the pleasure and excite- 
ment of two distinct visits. 

Miss Macalaster was generally to be found in her 
boudoir — a pretty place, filled with priceless bric-a- 
brac, and haunted by the faint sweet odors that al- 
ways seem to cling about the dress and surround- 
ings of dainty ladies of a by-gone age. The rare In- 
dian things were further fragrant with the romance 
of their owner’s life, reaching back to that long, 
long ago when she was presented, and her friend 
Lady Cockleorum appeared in the “ Book of Beau- 
ty.” Before the presentation even, when Miss Mac- 
alaster was not only a young and beautiful girl, but 
a romantic and imaginative one, who spent her days 
in a world of her own creating, there had come to 
the gray old castle the Prince Charming who had 
roused her from her enchanted sleep. Prince Charm- 
ing was well born, gallant, honorable, but, alas ! with 
no fortune save what he might be able to carve out 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


69 


with his sword ; and as India was a quarter of the 
globe where other swords had carved to excellent 
purpose, to India he went. He was supposed to have 
fallen there in a sortie, though the fact that his body 
was never recovered had kept Miss Macalaster in a 
vague suspense and hope, not even in her old age 
utterly extinguished. Tory and Nan thought Miss 
Macalaster’s story delightfully interesting, and just 
sad enough not to be too painful. They were al- 
lowed to look at a beautifully illustrated copy of 
“Evangeline,” and even to read some manuscript 
sonnets to “Gabriel,” and they quite understood. 
Then there was Gabriel himself — in the boudoir, in 
the drawing-room, in Evangeline’s bedroom, and on 
Evangeline’s person ; in oils, in water-colors, in cray- 
ons, in miniature. Miss Macalaster had a passion 
for fragrant and beautiful flowers, and a rare skill in 
arranging them in the antique vases and bowls. She 
was skilful with the needle, and, to entice the little 
girls into the mysteries of cross-stitch, would work 
cats on canvas for them to fill up. Miss Macalaster 
was equally kind to both children, but a little afraid 
of Nan. Both were fond of asking questions, but 
Nan sometimes asked questions Miss Macalaster could 
not answer; and though she had no foolish vanity, 
she had a great sense of propriety, and there seemed to 
her something indelicate in a child posing her elders. 

Miss Grizzell’s morning- room was not nearly so 
grand as Miss Macalaster’s boudoir, but it was more 


70 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


cheerful. No stained glass or heavy draperies was 
permitted to transform either the sunshine or the 
shadow of the day then passing into the light of 
other days. Miss Grizzell’s amusements were paint- 
ing (the various Gabriels were her work) and music. 
She played with delicate taste and touch, and sang 
old Scottish songs with a voice that had doubtless 
been good in its day, but whose day was long past. 
I am ashamed to say that one of Tory’s accomplish- 
ments was singing so like her that had you not seen 
Tory, you would have believed the ridiculous little 
quavers were Miss Grizzell’s own. A substantial 
basket of red flannel for petticoats took the place 
of Miss Macalaster’s blue-ribboned lute. And while 
the elder sister let the children share her state drive, 
Miss Grizzell gave them the pleasure of driving 
themselves and her gifts from cottage to cottage in 
a donkey-cart, she walking briskly beside them ready 
to distribute when she thought proper. Miss Griz- 
zell knew every man, woman, and child on the Castle 
Lowrie estate, and prided herself on being a terror 
to evil-doers as well as, in the matter of the red 
flannel petticoats, a praise to such as did well. There 
were no questions which Miss Grizzell could not an- 
swer in one way or another, and she asked a good 
many questions herself. 

There was one walk the children took far oftener 
than any other. They could not keep away from the 
old church-yard. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


71 


Mr. and Mrs. Leslie had come as strangers to Stratli- 
lowrie, and for the twenty years of their married life 
no one related to them had been laid to rest there; 
so that the children had never associated the church- 
yard with any of themselves, even in the vague way 
that they might have done had they lived near the 
graves of kindred. And now it was not as if the 
mother had been laid with grand-parents, or brothers 
and sisters, or any one of their own race. They were 
all in the Manse together ; mamma was in the church- 
yard alone. To them there was in all the world but 
one grave. 

They used to come home with virtuous resolutions ; 
they did not always keep them. While Mr. O’Neil 
had stayed they got on beautifully with Margaret. As 
soon as he went the old jarring began again. The 
children at last decided not to “ expose” her, lest 
she should stay at the Manse always. But instigated 
and assisted by Davie, they did not make life there 
too easy for her. If she could only have had the 
maternal privilege of slapping them ! but this Mr. 
Leslie wisely forbade. Once Margaret transgressed, 
but not without provocation. She had carelessly 
left on her open desk a poem to the Reverend Hugh, 
and a copy having been taken, and Archie Campbell 
engaged to fill up the quartette, it was sung at her 
door, which had first been cautiously locked on the 
outside, to the tune of “ Old Hundred,” Davie lining 
in the style of Rorie Saunderson, the old precentor. 


72 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Rorie had a tune for his lining as well as for his 
singing — a sort of iambic drawl, with a minor wail at 
the end, not unlike the fashionable intoning perform- 
ed by Ritualists nowadays — and this was faithfully 
reproduced by Davie, while Tory rendered with spirit 
the part of Ivirsty Poison’s mother, whose psalmody 
was equally noted for strength and intricacy. But 
Margaret’s room was in the wing, and Margaret, as I 
have said before, had long legs ; so the window was 
noiselessly opened, and a flank movement so skilfully 
executed that the besieging party had not the slight- 
est suspicion of it till a resounding slap on the cheek 
of Mrs. Poison, and a consequent change of key and 
air, betrayed it. Then there was a perfect roar of 
fury as the still uninjured trio threw themselves 
upon the foe. ^ Jean’s cries brought the minister; 
and I doubt if any one else could have arrested the 
combat. But other fights followed, till Mr. Leslie 
finally allowed Margaret to accept an invitation to 
her uncle’s. And then there was peace, in which 
the vacant place seemed to make itself more visible 
every day. 

Tory and Nan could not have explained how or 
why it was, but they no longer ran about the house 
carelessly and fearlessly as they used to do. It had 
become a haunted house: I do not mean in the vul- 
gar sense, but so far as every house is haunted from 
which a long familiar presence has forever passed 
away. Everywhere seemed to linger the mystery of 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 73 

death — a mystery which had come so appallingly near 
them, yet which they could not understand. They 
knew in words that the best beloved of their house- 
hold was dead, but how long it would be before they 
could grasp the word’s real meaning ! They could not 
make her dead. She must be in the study with papa, 
or in her bedroom, resting, or in the attic, looking 
over the boxes — if they could only go and look ; or 
she would come back if they only waited. They 
had been taught to be patient ; they could wait a 
long time. They had yet to learn that there is one 
kind of patience never rewarded ; that those who 
w r ait for the dead to come back wait in vain. 

They gave up playing in the attics except when 
they had companions. The attics were filled with 
relics, many of them left from the days of Mr. Leslie’s 
predecessor. There were tea-chests of Athenaeums 
and Edinburgh lieviews ; old mahogany boxes with 
brass handles, containing papers yellow with age ; 
ancient trunks of cow-skin studded with brass nails, 
filled with old - fashioned finery which had sup- 
plied material for many a gorgeous masquerade. 
What fun they used to have dressing themselves and 
Kelpie ! They thought for a long time they would 
never have a masquerade again. 

But of course there came a day when they did ; a 
day of fun — for childhood cannot be sad forever 
— of fun overshadowed because one of their young 
friends had unknowingly put on Kelpie a bonnet 


74 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

they could recollect mamma having worn. It seemed 
to them as if they had been ridiculing her, and they 
sat down and wept. 

Then seeing a key in a little chest that had always 
been locked before, they decided to look over the 
papers. No restrictions had ever been placed upon 
their researches in the attic. 

But this was a little chest they did not remember 
having seen open. Would it have old letters of 
Grandpapa Leslie’s or Grandpapa MacDonald’s? or 
dry old sermons of former ministers? They would 
look and see. The little friends were interested too ; 
they were collectors of stamps and seals, and thought 
themselves a perfect College of Heralds as to armo- 
rial bearings. 

The first letter began, “ My Dear Sister,” and was 
signed “Alan MacDonald.” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Nan, her face flushing, “ it’s my 
papa !” Nan had only a misty recollection of her 
father, and none at all of her mother. 

A slip of paper dropped from the longer letter. 
It was headed 1 0 U. 

“ Oh !” cried Tory, “ how interesting ! What does 
I O U stand for ?” 

Nobody knew. They were familiar with P. S., 
R. S. V. P., and P. P. C., and they thought I O U 
might be something of the same kind. 

“Well,” said Tory, “let us see what Uncle Alan 
says.” And she began to read aloud : 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


75 


“My dear Sister, — If the old boy still holds out 
you will have to apply to the parson. The money I 
must have, or the dev — 55 

Tory stopped in horror, but at once recollected 
the presence of the little friends. There would be 
time enough when they were alone to tax Nan with 
her father having been a swearer. The thing now 
was to preserve the credit of the family. 

“ Oh , 55 she said, “ I see — it’s a foreign conundrum, 
and Uncle Alan’s letter gives the translation. Papa 
might not like us to see it, so let us lock up the 
box and run down-stairs.” 

But Nan had found something: a book with beau- 
tiful velvet binding and gold clasps, printed in a lan- 
guage she did not know. It was a translation; a 
Spanish copy of the “ Devout Life” of S. Francis de 
Sales, beautifully illustrated after Spanish artists. 
On the fly-leaf was a name, Mercedes Guzman . 

The children admired the binding, and Tory de- 
cided to ask her papa to give it to her. So, for the 
present, it and the papers were locked up and the 
attic deserted. 

They agreed to speak about the papers that even- 
ing, but sly Tory having to prefer her request about 
the book, did not wait the minister’s coming down, 
but slipped up to the study. The children were al- 
ways privileged to go to the study with their re- 
quests. 


76 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“Papa,” began Tory, smilingly, “what is an 

I O ur 

Papa was always pleased to hear his children ask 
for information ; but he looked anything but pleased 
now. “ A what f” he thundered. 

Tory repeated the mystic characters, but falter- 
ingly. 

Then it was for the minister to ask and Tory to 
answer. And when she left the study she took with 
her no translation, but a very fixed resolution never 
to mention the subject to her father again if she — 
and he — should live a thousand years. Ere she 
reached the dining-room the minister was on his 
way to the attic. 

Tory had been forbidden to let a word on the 
subject pass her lips, therefore she could give no 
word of warning ; so that the moment her father 
opened the dining-room door Nan called out, “ Oh, 
papa, who was Mercedes Guzman ?” 

The owner of the name might not have recog- 
nized it as pronounced by Nan, but Mr. Leslie did. 
He had looked black at Tory’s questions, he looked 
white enough at this. There was a moment’s rapid 
reflection, and then the minister made up his mind. 

“Mercedes Guzman was your mother,” he said. 
“Now, not another word on the subject.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


Mr. Leslie’s words sent a thrill through all Nan’s 
being. That any child should live to be twelve 
years old and not know her mother’s name may 
strike the reader as impossible, but the circumstances 
in Nan’s case were peculiar. Losing her mother 
when she was a baby ; coming across the sea to the 
Manse when she was scarcely four ; never spoken to 
or encouraged to ask about father or mother, or any 
one or anything in the far-off land from which she 
had come, there was really nothing wonderful about 
her ignorance. In time, of course, many questions 
would naturally have occurred to her; but except 
for the researches in the attic they would not have 
occurred just yet. 

Mercedes Guzman was your mother ! The words 
rang in her ears and brain like a refrain. The min- 
ister had not waited to see the effect of his words, 
but had at once given out and struck up 

“By Babel’s streams we sat and wept.” 

It was one of Nan’s favorites, but she could not 
join in it. Mercedes Guzman icas your mother was 

6 


78 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


what she would have sung had she opened her 
mouth. She heard the psalm. She was even dim- 
ly conscious that there was something in it remotely 
applicable to herself. The pathos of it had always 
appealed to her — the captives hanging their harps 
on the willows by the rivers of a strange land, un- 
able to speak for tears when they that carried them 
away captive asked of them a song of Zion. Nan 
saw it all, felt it all. The situation was picturesque, 
pathetic. She had wished for Tory’s beautiful voice 
to do justice to it. 

“Oh! how the Lord’s song shall we sing 
Within a foreign land?” 

And now it seemed to her the situation was her 
own. Could her feelings have been a presentiment, 
she wondered. 

Mercedes Guzman. It was a foreign name, and 
not French, or Italian, or German, or any tongue she 
was in the habit of hearing at home or at school. 
She knew that, partly because she took it for grant- 
ed it was of the same language as the beautiful book, 
partly from her uncle’s pronunciation of it. Then 
Nan herself was half a foreigner. It was delight- 
fully romantic. 

The minister had said, “Not another word on the 
subject !” but even his eye and ear could not pierce 
the hours that figured in his prayers as the “silent 
watches.” So Tory and Nan made a night of it, Tor 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


79 


Tory, too, was keenly excited over the thickening of 
the plot. She had a cousin whose father had been 
a swearer and whose mother was a foreigner ! It 
was very interesting. Tory and Nan were in the 
habit of airing their secrets before Davie under mys- 
terious initials, and the letters M. G. were at once 
placed at the head of the list. 

But not in their minds alone did the name re- 
main. The minister was too just to decree that a 
child should, for the first time in her life, hear her 
mother’s name and hear no more. He was trying 
to decide just what he ought to tell her. All he 
knew of her mother he knew from the letters of 
Captain MacDonald; and his brother-in-law was a 
man whom, after he once found him out, he would 
not have believed on oath. And while he was 
thinking the matter over an event occurred which 
threw Mercedes Guzman into the background and 
brought Alan MacDonald to the front. 

A deep disgrace was brought upon the Manse by 
Nan. The children were not allowed to spend money 
without permission, and during the two or three 
months before the minister’s birthday there was al- 
ways a special rage for “ gathering up.” But Nan’s 
bank seemed growing lighter instead of heavier, and 
on Davie innocently remarking it, Nan had replied 
angrily and hidden the box away. After that it 
grew lighter and lighter, until there was not a half- 
penny left. Nan had been anything but happy dur- 


80 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


ing the diminishing process; when it was actually 
accomplished she was perhaps the most miserable 
little girl in Scotland. 

She had commenced by buying for Andrewina a 
brass thimble, for which she had heard her wish. 
She did not know exactly why she had done so, be- 
cause she did not like Andrewina, and of course she 
had to make her promise secrecy. The only pleas- 
ure was in the mere act of spending, and having once 
begun she went on. She bought rock, and shared 
it with Tory, pretending it had been given her by 
Colin ; but this so nearly led to a discovery that she 
ate the next rock alone. She bought a toy, which 
she dared not show and dared not give away, and 
which she finally threw into the sea. She bought 
half a dozen apples, and hid herself and them in the 
long grass, and ate them all at once. Plow mean and 
selfish she felt as she was doing it ! for everybody in 
the Manse shared with everybody else. When at 
length she heard herself called she dared not answer ; 
Kelpie’s bark, as he rushed in upon her, sounded like 
a summons to judgment. But Kelpie was in high 
glee, and Kelpie’s master and Tory had come to 
share with Nan a rosy-cheeked apple. IIow aston- 
ished they were when Nan burst into tears and 
sobbed out that she did not want her share, that it 
would choke her; that she wished she was dead! 
But even Davie did not tease. He thought she 
was thinking of his mother; Tory attributed it 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


81 


all to M. GL Oh, if Nan had only told them the 
truth ! 

But she did not. And one wrong-doing led to 
another. Nan’s besetting sin was pride; and as the 
birthday approached she racked her brains for some 
way of evading discovery. And as the personage 
quoted in her father’s letter never lets a temptation 
fail for lack of opportunity, an opportunity came. 

The Caldwells were girls whose parents were in 
India. They lived with a rich, indulgent, but vul- 
gar, grandmother; and they had more toys, sweet- 
meats, and pocket-money in a week than the Manse 
children had in twelve years. Tory and Nan thought 
they might have been the happiest of human beings, 
but they certainly were not. Sometimes, indeed, they 
were good-natured and lavish; oftener they were 
rude, selfish, and quarrelsome. Mrs. Leslie had al- 
ways forbidden any intimacy with them. 

But for a month or two Tory and Nan, notwith- 
standing the confidences of the “ silent watches,” had 
been gradually drifting apart in their friendships, as 
well as in other ways, and Nan, I am sorry to say, 
was daily at the Caldwells. She was made free of 
the toys and games, gorged with good things she had 
never seen before, and led on to tell everything she 
knew, and a great deal she only imagined. The 
bank disclosure was the last, and Nan blamed herself 
heartily. But the Caldwells told her the money was 
her own, and that it was “ tyranny ” not to be allowed 


82 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD'S DAUGHTER. 


to spend it when she liked ; and then they proffered, 
and demoralized Nan accepted, the loan of half a 
crown. 

Nan was the life of the Manse that evening. And 
whereas she had refused to discuss the birthday 
present before, she now wanted it settled at once. 
So Davie and Tory counted their precious pennies, 
and mustered three shillings between them ; and then 
Nan, with the air of a queen relieving a worthy fam- 
ily, produced the half-crown. 

Davie and Tory were fairly bewildered ; and so was 
Nan, with the questions they asked. But the with- 
drawal of the bank was supposed to have been for 
the express purpose of changing the base into the 
precious metal, and generous Davie expressed regret 
for certain thoughts he had had. The present was 
bought and presented, and then came some unpleas- 
ant reflections. 

Nan had never had half a crown in her life before, 
and she began to wonder when she would have an- 
other. Already there was a coolness between her 
and the Caldwells, and her castles in the air had 
given place to dismal forebodings. What if they 
should tell! 

There was really no what if about it ; it was a 
mere question of time. Fate, however, was already 
swooping down upon Nan from another direction. 
Miss Christie, the bookseller from whom the present 
had been purchased, was an excellent friend to all 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


83 


in the Manse. She had been greatly interested in 
the present, and had indeed given it at about half 
price, though she did not let the children know this. 
And one evening Miss Christie dropped in after the 
prayer-meeting to ask where they got the half-crown, 
which had proved to be a bad one ! 

It was fortunate for Nan that she was not a more 
experienced liar. She would only have postponed 
the evil day, and the Caldwells would have betrayed 
her after all. 

So there she had to sit, seeing grief in kind Miss 
Christie’s face, and hearing her declare it did not 
matter, and that they must never mention the sub- 
ject again. Mr. Leslie was firm. He was sure, he 
said, she would oblige them by taking back an ar- 
ticle he could never bear to look at now, and letting 
Davie and Tory choose what their little hoard could 
really pay for. 

That was mortifying, but not half so hard to bear as 
to see the surprise in Tory’s face, the scorn in Davie’s, 
as she told what had become of her own money. Mr. 
Leslie spared her nothing — not even the lying in the 
long grass and eating the six apples. They had not 
been a sweet morsel at the time, and they were a bit- 
ter one now. Nan had a vague idea the minister 
would kill her. After Davie’s white face, and flash- 
ing eyes, and smile of contempt, what did it matter? 
The bitterness of death was past. 

There was nothing like killing; but for a time 


84 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Nan was permitted to speak to no one, and no one 
spoke to her. She had a little bed in the study ; she 
walked in the garden alone; she sat at meals and 
worship with the others, but no one took the slight- 
est notice of her. She was first ashamed, then hard- 
ened, then lonely and broken-hearted. 

As she sat in the study one evening, thinking the 
summons would never come, a wild thought came 
into her head. She could hear happy voices and 
laughter below, but no one came near her. It was 
dark, and Nan had always been afraid of the dark, 
but no one brought a light — no one in the house, 
that is ; but while she lay there, almost too unhappy 
to be afraid, the full moon rose from behind the hills 
and shone into the room, and lighted up the tarnished 
medallions, and rested lovingly on the dry old books. 
Nan raised her head, and saw the beautiful white, 
fleecy clouds, the dark, mysterious rocks, the silvery 
sea, and an excitement took possession of her that 
drove away all fear. Slipping noiselessly down-stairs, 
•out at the back door, and through the garden, she 
crossed the stones, passed swiftly over the sands, and 
climbing the old clmrch-yard gate, glided between the 
crowded graves and reached her goal. She threw her- 
self upon the grass and kissed it passionately, sobbing, 

Oh, mamma! mamma!” 

It did not matter now that she had loved her so 
much less than Tory. Even so, lying out there, so 
•deep under the sod that Nan could not go down to 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


85 


her, she was nearer to her than all the rest of the 
world. Nan read by the clear moonlight the name 
— “Margaret MacDonald” — and wondered if the 
good MacDonald, the King’s daughter, knew any- 
thing about the bad MacDonald — what she had done, 
what she had suffered. “ Oh, mamma ! my mamma !” 
she sobbed again and again. It was a protest against 
all the thoughts she had been thinking before her 
disgrace; against the romance she had been weav- 
ing; most of all against Mercedes Guzman. What 
was that other grave across the sea to her? Mamma 
was here. 

It was a cold night, but Nan did not feel cold. 
The cool, damp grass soothed her aching head ; the 
noise of the falling waves lulled her. She thought 
of her favorite psalm, “By the rivers of Babylon,” 
and its melody seemed to mingle in her ears with the 
song of the sea, and gradually all sounds grew faint 
and far away, and Nan was asleep on Mrs. Leslie’s 
grave. 

There Mr. Leslie found her, and from there he 
took her very tenderly home. Such an escapade had 
never occurred in his experience before, but he said 
no word of blame. Nay, he wondered if he had not 
been too hard on what he looked upon as, after all, 
her father’s sin. 

Nan kept her bed for a day or two, and when she 
left it the questions she had longed to ask had all 
been answered. Her uncle had had a long, kind talk 


86 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


with her, and she knew now what I O U meant, 
while the special IOU’s from the little chest in the 
attic were destroyed before her eyes. The minister 
said as little as possible about Captain MacDonald’s 
shortcomings, but he felt it his duty to warn her 
against the tendencies she had inherited. And what 
he dwelt upon most w T as that evil tendencies would 
be no excuse either in the opinion of the world or 
the sight of God for those who were given training 
and opportunity to overcome them. 

The Caldwells received with such indignation the 
idea of their half-crown being bad that the minister 
at once paid a good one. But of course they told 
the story of the loan, and, half as a scandal, half as a 
joke, spread the history of the “ conundrum.” And 
there were people clever enough to need no “ trans- 
lation,” and uncharitable enough to say, “Like father, 
like daughter.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


When five more years had passed away there 
came a wonderful change in Nan’s life. But before 
that there had come a good many changes in the 
lives of some other people we know. 

Rob had gone to India, and Davie was going. 
Colin, over six feet high now, was getting on, with a 
fair prospect of being Mr. Campbell’s partner by-and- 
by. His face had paled, his hair darkened, but he 
w r as still the plain one of the family, and still, par 
excellence , the good one. 

Margaret had been married for several years. 
The O’Neils lived in Virginia now, the going there 
having been hastily decided on only a few months 
before the marriage. Through a Virginia cousin 
there had come a call to Mr. O’Neil, and the young 
minister, always delicate, was advised by his doctor 
to accept. 

Margaret had not improved in her married life. 
Mr. O’Neil was good, but not clever or clear-sighted, 
and so his wife completely managed him. She wrote 
his sermons — nominally from his dictation, but real- 
ly so changing words and ideas that when Mr. O’Neil 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD'S DAUGHTER. 


came to look them over he was half pleased, half 
bewildered. She had still the keenest eye to her 
own interests. The circle of her interests had widen- 
ed, of course, embracing now her husband, and to a 
certain extent the congregation, but she was still the 
centre of the sphere. 

Besides being clever, Margaret had a way of put- 
ting things that was irresistibly funny to all except 
those at whose expense the fun was. She had a 
habit of quoting Scripture too, which, without being 
intentionally irreverent, had been remonstrated with 
by a deputation of elders’ wives as a “ stumbling- 
block and rock of offence.” How nice it would be, 
she reflected, to have some one of her own with 
whom she might discuss the daughters of the land ! 
She had discovered no one to take Sophy Campbell’s 
place. She found no moderation among the Ameri- 
cans. Those who enjoyed the clever caricatures, 
enjoyed them so much that they hastened to repro- 
duce them. Those who were too honorable or too 
prudent to repeat, were too pious or too stupid to 
enjoy. Her powers were thrown away. 

And so, after much thought, Margaret broached to 
her h.usband the plan of having Nan. Nan had no 
money, and was anxious to teach. Why not come 
to them instead? I may add that she knew much 
more about Nan’s family history than Nan herself 
did, and may have had private reasons in addition 
to those she mentioned. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


89 


When Margaret’s letter came, Mr. Leslie gave it 
to Nan to read, and told her she must decide for her- 
self. Nan knew he was doing by her exactly as he 
would have done by a child of his own. Had Mar- 
garet written for Tory he would have given her the 
right of choice; and if she had gone, would have 
kept Nan. But Nan had always got on better with 
Margaret than Tory had. 

How should Nan ever decide? She had often 
wearied of the monotony of Strathlowrie, and longed 
to see the world that stretched away beyond the blue 
hills. But this flight was so far! There would be 
no home-coming, with Colin and Tory at the boat, 
and the minister waiting at the Manse door, and 
Kelpie barking a welcome, and all Strathlowrie tell- 
ing each other that Nan — no, Miss MacDonald — had 
come home. And how could she ever say such a 
long good-by to them all ? She could not, she could 
not ! 

And yet it would be going to the land of her 
birth, and the land where her father and mother 
were buried. And, after all, she need not stay if she 
did not like it. Margaret would be offended, of 
course ; but though Margaret had asked her to come 
and live with her as her sister, she did not mean to 
be dependent. She would be something great, she 
had made up her mind — an artist, or a poetess, or a 
novelist; she was not quite sure which. Then she 
could come back when she would, and visit not only 


90 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Strathlowrie, but the romantic land of Mercedes Guz- 
man. Whenever Nan thought of her Spanish strain 
she put on, without meaning it, a dark, melancholy 
look. She had written a little romance in rhyme, 
the scene of which was laid on the banks of the 
Guadalquiver. And when Tory said, u Au revoir /” 
Nan said, u Vay con Dios /” Enterprise and romance 
carried the day. Nan had said she would never 
be able to decide. In reality she decided in ten 
minutes. 

The decision once made, Nan was in high spirits. 
It is something to have one’s future, or even the be- 
ginning of one’s future, settled ; and then one does 
not appreciate what parting is when it is two or 
three months away. The two or three months are 
always so pleasant that even, putting the parting out 
of the question, you are sorry to have them come to 
an end. The misery is, they do come to an end ; 
and as you begin to realize what that means — and 
you cannot arrest time — you almost think it would 
be a relief to hasten it. It is such misery to look 
even at things inanimate you have grown familiar 
with, and to think you will see them no more. But 
what is that compared to looking at the faces you 
have' known and loved all your life — the faces that 
have made your life — and know that while they are 
to remain in the dear old places, you are to be borne 
off into a new and untried world. How the last 
weeks hasten ! how the last days fly ! 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


91 


Nan’s last week came — her last Sunday. Once 
again she sat in her corner of the old pew — crimson 
once more. And as to drowning people there comes 
in an instant the memory of all their past life, so 
there seemed to be flashed before Nan’s eyes and 
heart all the days of all her years in Strathlowrie. 

How grand she used to think the old church ! She 
knew better now ; she knew by books and pictures, 
and what she had heard from others, that it was not 
simply plain, but hideous. 

It was just a great square room. The main pas- 
sage ran the wrong way. A mahogany-colored gal- 
lery was supported on green “ marbleized ” columns, 
on which the eyes of Eorie Saunderson, the precent- 
or, rested fondly as he sang. Rorie painted all the 
week, as he sang on Sunday, and the “ marbleizing” 
was considered his masterpiece. On one side of the 
passage was a row of “table-seats,” where the com- 
municants sat on the semi-annual sacramental oc- 
casions, and where all the rest of the year the old 
country people loved to congregate. There was old 
Donald, Bible in hand, staff and bonnet at his side, 
Laddie doubtless waiting at the church door. There 
was Merron’s kind old face, still framed in the snowy 
mutch, now with the hood of the brown cloak drawn 
over it. You might look the whole length of the 
“ table-seats,” and over a great part of the church be- 
side, and see never a bonnet. The enclosure for the 
elders was high above the ordinary seats ; the pre- 


92 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


centor towered above the elders, while the minister 
was nearer the ceiling than the floor. Nan knew how 
it felt to be even at that perilous eminence. She 
remembered the days when Andrewina cleaned, and 
Tory and herself were, by turns, every one of the 
dignitaries. There were the Camerons and other 
county families in high pews like the minister’s, but 
much grander. There were the Campbells in the 
corner exactly opposite them. Nan had still a great 
love for Sophy, but what was that now compared 
to what she felt for even the least loved within the 
Manse ? Here were the dear old Macalasters at her 
side. They had taken the kindest interest in her 
going, and had lavished gifts upon her until the 
minister told them he would send back the very 
next article that came. Nan’s heart was especially 
tender to Tory. The latter, indeed, had changed 
much, and Nan fancied she began to see in her young, 
beautiful face a little of the wistful look she still 
remembered so well. Since Nan’s earliest recollec- 
tion, almost, they had never been a day apart, and 
now they were never to be together again — never, 
certainly, as they had been. A terrible fear was be- 
ginning to dawn upon poor Nan. She was bidding; 
them all good-by forever. 

Oh, if she could only keep back the tears till she 
got safely into the Manse, they might come in a flood 
if they would ! She held out bravely. She tried 
not to think, or to think only of funny things. She 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


93 


saw Daft Geordie’s dismal face turned to their pew, 
but though she forced herself to think over all the 
ridiculous things he had ever done, she had ceased 
to think them laughable. Would she ever laugh 
again ? They were singing Balerma — a simple air, 
surely, yet Kirsty Poison’s mother was performing 
unwritten accidentals, making all sorts of little de- 
tours where no one dared follow, and then as unex- 
pectedly descending to Rorie’s key and note. It was 
far beyond even Mrs. Poison’s usual efforts, and Tory 
gave Nan a look that said as much. Nan tried to 
smile in response, but instead put down her head 
on the high table and wept bitterly. It was one of 
Nan’s greatest misfortunes that she never saw things 
as they were. She either made them better or worse. 
Before the revulsion came she had felt herself a sort 
of princess setting out to take possession of her king- 
dom ; and Tory’s fate seemed humdrum in compari- 
son. Now Tory was the princess, kept safe and 
happy in the beautiful enchanted land whence she 
was forever shut out. She did not even wish to be 
Tory, her lot seemed so far above her. She would 
be willing to be the precentor’s daughter, or Jean, or 
Andrewina, or even Kirsty Poison’s mother — sing- 
ing and all — if only she might never leave Strath- 
lowrie. 

When she reached the Manse it was to throw her- 
self into her uncle’s arms and beg him to keep her. 
The minister allowed no such changes of mood. Nan 
7 


94 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


had been told plainly, when the decision was left 
with her, that once made it would be binding. But 
Nan, unwilling to be bound by any decision that 
could cost such pain, would not cease her entreaties 
until she had made Mr. Leslie really angry. 

And having done that she took another turn. The 
parting was before next Sunday, to be sure ; but then 
it was not to-day, or to-morrow, and Nan was an 
Epicurean. So she brightened up again, and in the 
“ silent watches” of that Sunday night proved con- 
clusively to Tory first, that “ in a year or two, or 
three at the most,” she, Annie MacDonald, would 
have won fame and fortune; second, that after hav- 
ing returned to Strathlowrie to be lionized (and here 
Nan touched casually on the noble acquaintances 
they would make at the Castle, and on the advantage 
it would be to Tory to be invited out with the lion), 
Nan, accompanied by Tory, would at once proceed 
to Spain to discover — and in all probability take pos- 
session of — the palace of the Guzmans ; third, that 
Tory might then take her choice between a Spanish 
grandee and Sir Alaster MacAlaster’s heir (Nan had 
decided never to marry herself) ; fourth, that each and 
every member of the Leslie family might consider 
his or her fortune made : it being simply a matter of 
wishing on their part and executing on Nan’s. 

Nan further confided to Tory that while not quite 
certain as to the means by which this desirable end 
would be brought about, it would in all probability 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


95 


be by the wooing of the poetical muse, as she thought 
her style rather resembled Mrs. Browning’s, relieved 
by a Byronic dash. 

On these heights she rested till the day before she 
left the Manse, and then the collapse was so entire 
that she would almost have changed places with Daft 
Geordie himself. 

And so, with love in her heart, and proud dreams 
in her head, she sailed from the haven of her child- 
hood out into unknown seas. 


CHAPTER IX. 


The little Virginia town of Willoughby was bask- 
ing in the sunshine of the dog-days. It was with 
lawyers (and nine-tenths of the gentlemen in little 
Virginia towns are lawyers) the hour when generally 
free from clients, they tilted back their chairs and 
tried dangerous experiments in equilibrium, fanning 
vigorously the while with one hand and mopping 
despairingly with the other. It was with ladies the 
hour sacred to the siesta. 

The upper end of Columbia Street, the fashionable 
locality, was literally deserted. The houses there, 
though mostly of red brick, or of wood whose glar- 
ing white paint was intensified by green jalousies , 
were nevertheless so toned down by broad piazzas 
covered with clematis, Virginia - creeper, fragrant 
honeysuckle, and climbing roses — not to speak of the 
shadows of the grand old trees — as to suggest, what- 
ever the heat without, refreshing coolness within. 

One of the prettiest of all these pretty places was 
that occupied by the O’Neils. The original brick 
color of the house was softened by broad overhang- 
ing eaves, painted brown, with jalousies to match. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALDS DAUGHTER. 


97 


The piazza was a continuous bower. The wing had 
a porch that an English artist had planned. The 
lawn was as green and velvety as constant cutting 
and rolling and watering could make it; and the 
drive past the side of the lawn and house was bor- 
dered on either hand by exquisite tea-roses of every 
shade and variety. 

This paradise belonged to Dr. Preston, the cousin 
through whom the call had been sent; and he and 
his sister lived with the O’Neils on what advertisers 
call reciprocal terms. Though the Prestons’s mother 
was Irish, their father had been a Virginia gentleman ; 
and Margaret was quite aware that most of the at- 
tention she received was due to this connection. 

The O’Neils dined early, as did everybody in Wil- 
loughby in those days. Then Dr. Preston, grum- 
bling at the heat, but looking in his immaculate suit 
of white linen the very genius of coolness, had de- 
parted to his office ; Mr. O’Neil had retired to his 
study ; while Margaret, Miss Preston, and the lately 
arrived Nan had, after a short chat in the pretty 
porch, betaken themselves up-stairs. 

For the siesta in the South is no occasional forty 
winks, caught when you can get them, but a daily 
institution, for which you prepare as systematical- 
ly as for going to bed at night. Your window is 
open to admit the air; the shutters are closed to 
exclude the sun ; you don your airiest attire, and 
as the recumbent position on a hot day is fatal to 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


crimps and curls, your hair is generally en papil- 
lote. 

Miss Preston was developing for Nan quite an 
extraordinary friendship, but she had never invited 
her to her rooms at the hour of siesta. “ I really 
require the sleep,” she said ; “ and besides, I am such 
a fright with my hair in curl-papers.” Margaret ex- 
plained, as soon as she was well out of hearing, that 
what she really meant was, that she was such a fright 
without the usual complement of hair. For this 
dear friend professed to be able to discern that the 
golden curls which in public adorned her head nev- 
er grew there; while Phyllis, to ingratiate herself 
with her mistress, had basely thrown out hints to 
the same effect: “All I knows is I takes up a red- 
hot flat-iron to Miss Car’line ebry afternoon, and I 
would jest like to see Miss Caroline put a red-hot flat- 
iron on her own head.” 

Figure to yourself, then, the perfect hush that 
pervaded the O’Neil establishment, and then fancy 
the feelings with which Miss Preston at her myste- 
ries and Nan on her couch heard the peal of the 
door-bell. Nan also heard the click of a lock, suc- 
ceeded by hasty footsteps in the passage, and then 
Miss Preston, with her head swathed in something 
opaque, entered. “ Isn’t it shameful ?” she said, in a 
stage whisper, although separated from the ringer by 
a long lobby and a flight of stairs. “ Any one who 
will make calls on such an afternoon ought to have 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


99 


a sunstroke . 55 Nan laughed heartily. # She was still 
young enough to enjoy calls even in the dog-days. 
Then they listened. 

Algernon Charles Fitzgerald, colored, was heard 
parleying with the foe. “ It’s a man’s voice ! 55 an- 
nounced Miss Preston in the same falsetto. The in- 
vader was at length repelled, on which Miss Preston 
retreated, much relieved ; and Margaret’s voice made 
itself heard : 

“ Algy, who was that man ? 55 

A. “ I dunno, Miss Ma’g’t, Pse sho 5 . 55 

Mrs. O’N. “ What did he want ?” 

A. “ lie done want to know if we wanted our 
feathah-beds renoviated . 55 

Mrs. O’N. “ Feather-beds ! How dared he think 
I had feather-beds ?” 

A. “ I dunno, Miss Ma’g’t, Pse sho’.” 

Mrs. O’N. “ What did you tell him ?” 

A. “ I tole him no.” 

Mrs. O’N. “No what ?” 

A. “I tole him we didn’t want no feathah-beds 
renoviated.” 

Mrs. O’N. “ How dared you allow the man to 
think I had feather-beds?” 

A. “ Well, ye see, Miss Ma’g’t, he kep’ bringin’ up 
ole Colonel Bob Jackson’s feathah-beds, an’ I wa’n’t 
gwine t’ allow ole Colonel Bob Jackson’s black nig- 
galis to crow over me.” 

(Algy is heard retreating.) 


100 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Mrs. O’N. “ Algy !” 

A. “ Yes, Miss Ma’g’t.” 

Mrs. O’N. “ How dared the man come to the front 
door?” 

A. “ I dunno, Miss Ma’g’t, Pse sho’.” 

Mrs. O’N. “ Why did you not ask him, then ?” 

A. “Why, you see, Miss Ma’g’t, he was such a 
tonguey man I couldn’t get a wil’d in sidewa} 7 s.” 

Mrs. O’N. (crescendo). “Then why did you not 
shut the door in his face?” 

A. “ Well, ye see, Miss Ma’g’t, he was such a cheeky 
man I — ” 

Mrs. O’N. “ Don’t say another word ; you are worse 
than the man.” 

(Silence.) 

Mrs. O’N. “ Algy !” 

A. “ Yes, Miss Ma’g’t.” 

Mrs. O’N. “ Do you hear me, Algy ?” 

A. “ I does so, Miss Ma’g’t.” 

Mrs. O’N. “Then why don’t you answer?” 

A. ( sotto voce). “ O Lor’ ! O Lor’ !” 

Mrs. O’Neil then appeared in Nan’s room, and de- 
scending from fortissimo to 'pianissimo , said, “ You 
see how it is, dear?” 

Nan thought she did, but fortunately did not say 

so. 

Heavy steps were heard on the back stairs, and 
Bridget the cook appeared breathless. Post-bellum 
days brought their own troubles to Southern house- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


101 


keepers: the “ Mammies” or “ Aunties” who had 
reigned in the kitchen going North, or becoming so 
infatuated with their newly acquired liberty that 
they preferred starvation in their own cabins to 
plenty and high wages in the mansions of their 
former owners; while their places were but poorly 
supplied by voluble and incompetent Irishwomen. 

“If ye plaze, mum, there’s a man settin’ in me 
kitchen, and there he says he will set till the docthor 
comes.” 

“What does he want, Bridget?” said Mrs. O’Neil, 
blandly. Cooks were not so patient as Algy, and 
Bridget was one of the few good ones in Willoughby. 

“lie says the Coort tould him to pick a guar deen, 
and he wants to pick the docthor because he loikes 
the look of him.” 

“ A guardian !” said Mrs. O’Neil. “ Is it a child ?” 

“It’s a man grown, mum, and past fifty, if he’s a 
day. But he’s to pick a guar deen because he’s a 
eejot.” 

“Papa used to say,” put in Nan, “that it was a 
wise fool who knew himself one.” 

“Well, Bridget,” said Mrs. O’Neil, “ let him stay 
till Dr. Preston comes. If lie’s in your way put him 
on the back porch.” 

“ Faix ! it’s not long on the back porch he’d stay 
if wanst he seen the paiches. It’s something else 
nor guardeens he’d be pickin’ ! He can set where he 
is, mum.” And Bridget departed. 


102 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“ If I were you, dear , 55 said Margaret to Nan, “ I 
would lock the door. The man is probably more 
knave than fool ; and it would be so easy to slip up- 
stairs the back way . 55 

Nan needed no second bidding. It might be one 
of the dreaded Ku-Klux, that she had heard of even 
across the sea. And then she lay down and took up 
her old pastime of building castles in the air. 

But it was a fated afternoon. Eleanor was just 
losing herself in a pleasant dream when there was a 
rattling at her door, and Margaret being admitted, 
thus reproached her : 

“ I don’t see how any one who sleeps as soundly 
as you do, Nan, dare lock her door. It’s that aw- 
ful Mrs. Jones, dear — Mrs. General Jones , 55 Margaret 
added, with a line scornful accent on the title, “ come 
to see you, and you must dress in five seconds. I 
can’t go down myself, for Hugh disapproves of her 
religion ; I can’t send her away, or Cousin Lawrence 
would be furious. I am ‘in a strait betwixt two.’” 
(Here Margaret imitated to the life Rorie Saunder- 
son’s prayers, which were half made up of groans.) 
“ Do, for mercy’s sake, be quick. Don’t mention the 
war, for the general shot his brother, who was fighting 
on the other side, and they say lie has never smiled 
since. And don’t breathe church. They are Catho- 
lics, which Hugh thinks the ‘abomination of deso- 
lation spoken of by Dawnell the prophet . 5 55 (Rorie 
again.) “Don’t laugh when Mrs. Jones speaks of 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


103 


Fawther Selby and the Jeshuites and so on till Nan 
descended. 

When Mrs. O’Neil said that Mrs. Jones had asked 
for Nan she simply told a fib. Had Tory and Nan 
done the same while under her tutelage she would 
have called it a lie, and set them down to the story 
of Ananias and Sapphira. Mrs. General Jones had 
asked solely for herself. But as she disliked being 
hurried at her toilet, she found it convenient to state 
the case as she had done. The visitor being charm- 
ingly naive, Nan discovered the fib in five minutes. 

She took her revenge by dashing at once into one 
of the forbidden subjects. She had never spoken to 
a Catholic in her life, but she had thought of them 
often, and spoken of them not infrequently. She 
knew they were under the Pope, and the Pope, she 
had heard her uncle say, was antichrist, the man of 
sin. But a sinful thing, as Nan had often known to 
her cost, may have its fascination, and this subject at 
once horrified and attracted her. Besides antichrist, 
the Woman of Babylon, and the Inquisition, it in- 
cluded the romantic Middle Ages, beautiful churches, 
beautiful paintings, beautiful music, and last, but not 
least, nuns. Nan had never seen a nun, but there 
was a lovely picture of one in Miss Macalaster’s illus- 
trated u Evangeline,” which had led to much ques- 
tioning on the subject. Miss Macalaster’s replies 
had been very much like Wegg’s when asked the 
difference between the Roman and the “ Roosian ” 


104 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Empire. She did not say in words that the subject 
was improper, but she looked mysterious, and gave 
them to understand it was one — unlike certain crack- 
nells they remembered too rich for little girls. Stim- 
ulated by this, the questioners had at once appealed 
to Miss Grizzell, who certainly exhibited no reticence 
on the subject. Miss Grizzell had never been within 
a convent, and had never spoken to a nun in all her 
long life, and yet you would suppose there was not 
a phase of the life that was not familiar to her. She 
had a friend in Edinburgh, who had a friend in Lon- 
don, who knew a lady whose sister had joined an 
order; and on this young lady’s “ poor mamma” 
calling, she had found her daughter with a black-lead 
brush in her hand, actually cleaning a grate. The 
same poor girl, Miss Grizzell said, had a pair of gloves 
sent her by her family several sizes too large, so that 
warmth and not vanity would be recognized as their 
raison o Vetre , and she had been made to return 
them. Miss Grizzell further stated that their charity 
was only a “ cloak ;” that the Little Sisters of the 
Poor ate all the best pieces of what was given them 
and spent the money on idolatrous ornaments for 
their chapels, and sinful luxuries for themselves. 
And she ended by taking down a volume of Mrs. 
Sherwood, from whose pages her inspiration was 
doubtless drawn, and reading the terrible tale of 
“The Nun.” Ever since then Nan had been dying 
to see a real living nun, and now she was actually 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


105 


conversing with a Roman Catholic — certainly a step 
towards the accomplishment of her object. 

For there were nuns in Willoughby. Nan had 
been in town but one short week, but she had already 
explored it thoroughly ; and the discovery of a con- 
vent in it had at once given a new direction and 
enthusiastic impetus to her what ifs . True, the con- 
vent itself had been a frightful shock to her. She 
had seen in imagination a Gothic abbey, walled in 
from the world, a stretch of graceful cloisters, a 
quadrangle of grass and trees and flowers, with a 
fountain — or, better still, a sun-dial — in the centre ; 
black-robed forms gliding through shadowy vistas, 
or bending over breviaries in the sunshine beside 
the fountain, or kneeling in the dim, religious light 
of the chapel. She found a high, square, red-brick 
building opening on the street ; a rough board fence, 
unpainted, running round the garden ; a garden, as 
she could see for herself when she condescended to 
look through the crevices caused by the shrinking 
of the boards, destitute of fountain and sun-dial, 
though it had a few fine trees. Even the three nuns 
whom the same surreptitious glance had revealed to 
her were a surprise. Their habit was not unlike 
that in Miss Macalaster’s picture, but their faces 
had none of the expression she had expected — some- 
thing made up of self-sacrifice, regret, and resigna- 
tion ; and far from gliding, they were actually romp- 
ing with a large dog. 


106 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Once mounted by Nan on her hobby, Mrs. Gener- 
al Jones rode off at full gallop. She touched lightly 
on the subject of her conversion, simply remarking 
that all good Christians were Catholics did they but 
know it. u There were lots of things I thought I 
didn’t believe when I was a Presbyterian,” said she, 
cheerily, “but come to talk them over with Fawther 
Selby, I found I had believed them all my life.” 

Passing to the nuns, she enlarged on the charms 
and accomplishments of each. The lately elected Su- 
perior seemed scarcely a favorite with her. Mother 
Frangoise was “ smart,” she acknowledged, but “ aw- 
ful high and mighty*” “ You should have seen dear 
old Mother Angie,” she went on. “She wasn’t a bit 
stuck-up ; but she’s gone back to Maryland.” Then 
she asked if Eleanor had heard the story of Mother 
Angela and the mirror. The nuns, it appeared, had 
arrived in Willoughby a few days before they could 
possibly take possession of the convent, and Mrs. 
Jones had entertained them hospitably. Crossing 
the drawing-room, Mother Angela had caught a 
glimpse of herself in the long mirror ; had stopped, 
stared, understood, and dropped in a dead faint — of 
horror, of course, having last seen herself when she 
was about sixteen ; say half a century before. Nan 
was touched. “ That’s the story they tell in Wil- 
loughby,” added Mrs. Jones, “ but law ! there ain’t a 
word of truth in it.” Nan was disgusted. 

The nuns, however, were really the occasion of 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


107 


the call. The widow of a Confederate leader — a 
hero who had joined to the religions zeal of the 
English Roundhead or the Scottish Covenanter the 
dashing chivalry of the South — was coming to Wil- 
loughby, and the nuns, being ardent rebels, were 
distracted to see her. It was a case of Mohammed 
and the mountain. The nuns, being cloistered, could 
not go to Mrs. Hotspur Fitzhugh ; would Mrs. Hot- 
spur go to them ? Miss Preston was a cousin of the 
fallen chief, so to her the nuns’ petition was sent. 
“ But I’ve always been a little afraid of Miss Pres- 
ton,” explained Mrs. Jones; “so I thought I would 
see Mrs. O’Neil first and get her to ask. She is al- 
ways so kind. Nan’s heart smote her as she remem- 
bered her cousin’s remarks. But Margaret, who 
entered just then, seemed to have quite forgotten 
them. Much to Nan’s surprise, she engaged to get 
the nuns’ request granted ; and when Nan, trembling 
all over with excitement, said she would so like to 
go with them, Margaret laughed lightly, and said, 
“ Why of course you can go with them. Why not ?” 
And then she told Mrs. Jones she believed Nan was 
afraid they kept a private Inquisition. And when 
the visitor left, Margaret walked down the lawn with 
her, and said so many pleasant things Mrs. Jones 
went home and confided to the general that she be- 
lieved nothing but the fear of her husband kept 
Mrs. O’Neil outside the pale of the Church. How 
Margaret would have enjoyed it had she but known, 


108 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


particularly the clause about her husband ! At that 
very moment she was engaged in reproducing for 
his benefit and Miss Preston’s the eccentricities of 
Mrs. General Jones. 

Very pretty Miss Preston looked when dressed 
for the evening. “ Be, not seem,” had been Mr. 
Leslie’s motto ; “ Seem, if you cannot be,” was Miss 
Preston’s. She looked young, though known to be 
nearly forty. It was unfortunate for one so sus- 
ceptible on the subject of age that her mother had 
died at her birth. It was a pathetic incident sure to 
be remembered ; it was also an exact one, suggesting 
that just so many years as Mrs. Preston had been 
out of the world, so many had her daughter been 
in it. “Miss Car’line can’t go back on dem fig- 
gahs on ole Miss Viginny’s grabestone,” Phyllis used 
to chuckle. Miss Preston’s figure suggested the 
voluptuous, but her dress-maker claimed the entire 
credit of it. Her profile was Grecian, and she al- 
ways tried to turn a three-quarters view to you. 
There was a long, deep indentation between the 
eyes, which she ascribed to near-sightedness, and 
Mrs. O’Neil to the vanity that would not permit 
her wearing glasses when her failing sight required 
them. 

In mind as in person there was a difference be- 
tween what seemed and what was. Miss Preston 
was rather clever, but superficial. She shone in 
conversation — not merely by saying a great deal, 


CAPTAIN MACDONALDS DAUGHTER. 


109 


but by saying it in polysyllables. Her skill in the 
latter was such that without being thorough on any 
subject, she might have talked a match with the 
Great Lexicographer himself and won ; while by the 
judicious use of a few foreign words and phrases she 
had the reputation of being polyglotic. 

But in spite of the dress-maker and dictionary, Miss 
Preston had a heart, and this heart was warming tow- 
ards Nan. She loved to identify herself with youth : 
Nan was young. Then, being by no means wanting 
in shrewdness, she had gauged Mrs. O’Neil pretty ac- 
curately, and she was sorry for any one thrown upon 
her tender mercies. Nan, for her part, was greatly 
flattered by Miss Preston’s interest. She had entire 
faith in the sweet smile, and the golden curls, and the 
three-quarters view of the Grecian features. 

Mr. O’Neil, Nan very soon made up her mind, was 
nothing more or less than a lay-figure. He preached 
very good sermons; but, as I have said, he did not 
write them. He, too, had Grecian features (the Pres- 
tons took their good looks from the Irish side of their 
house), and he had that marble pallor which young 
ladies think so interesting. So far as Nan could dis- 
cover, Mr. O’Neil had opinions differing from those 
of his wife on only one subject — psalmody. He 
could not get accustomed to the substitution of “ hu- 
man hymns” for the u inspired psalms.” And it 
struck him as unsuitable, and almost profane, that 

the choir should choose the hymns. The minister 
8 


110 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


had the privilege of selecting one germane to his 
sermon; the choir from time immemorial had done 
the rest, and in Mr. O’Neil’s opinion they did not do 
it well. Nan thought he had reason to complain. 
Fancy having to get up and announce, “ Let us be- 
gin the public worship of God by singing to Ilis 
praise the hymn : 

“ Sister thou wast mild and lovely, 

Gentle as the summer breeze.” 

Nan thought they might just as well sing the multi- 
plication table to the tune of “Yankee Doodle,” as 
she heard they did in country schools at the North. 
Margaret thought it did not matter, for in her opin- 
ion there was little to choose between the hymns her 
husband rebelled against and the psalms of David, 
Scottish metrical version. And then for the benefit 
of her Virginia friends she would line like Rorie and 
sing like Mrs. Poison : 

“ A man was famous and was bad 
In es-ti-ma-ti-on 
According as be lifted up 
His axe thick trees up-on. ” 

But here Nan did battle valiantly. All psalms were 
not like that. There was u The Lord’s my Shepherd,” 
and “I to the hills,” and her favorite, “By Babel’s 
streams,” and many others. Nan liked the psalms — 
and psalm tunes, in themselves even ; and when her 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Ill 


castle building embraced a grand cathedral and a 
more imposing worship, she thought she would still 
retain them. And then all Scotch people did not 
sing ridiculously. Nan thought of one who had 
sung these same old psalms with surpassing sweet- 
ness. Surely, if Margaret remembered, she could not 
caricature them for strangers; and yet how was it 
possible to forget ? 


CHAPTER X. 


On this particular evening Mrs. O’Neil was in high 
feather, and discoursed with spirit of the Joneses and 
the Jeshuites. Dr. Preston was not present, and there 
is no question that her acting was all the better for 
his absence. She paid the greatest court to him, had 
much pride in parading Cousin Lawrence in conver- 
sation with those dear friends who she knew were 
dying to carry him off, or to oust her from Preston 
Place and take possession. But, all the same, he was 
one of the two persons in the world of whom she had 
a wholesome fear. The other, I need not say, was half 
a world away. 

I fear late dinners have made Virginia teas things 
of the past ; they are at least things to be remem- 
bered. Boiled chickens and waffles were the pieces 
de resistance . Then there were delicate Maryland 
biscuits, guiltless of the abominations of soda or bak- 
ing-powder, beaten to lightness and whiteness by 
Bridget’s brawny arm. There were luscious peach- 
es, pared and sliced, and served w r ith golden cream. 
There was pound cake, or cocoa-nut cake, or mount- 
ain cake, or angel cake — some one or other of the 
delicious compounds for which Southern cooks are 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


113 


celebrated ; with fragrant coffee, tea — hot and iced — 
and, what Americans demand at every meal, water 
sparkling in goblets half filled with ice. There were 
also in all houses of the Preston class the snowiest 
damask and most delicate china. Margaret was per- 
mitted to avail herself of the Preston stores, and she 
spoke of the family plate as if she had been a born 
Preston. Nan wondered what the Macalasters would 
think of her now. She had confided to Miss Pres- 
ton the Lady Cockleorum legend, and Miss Preston 
had told her brother. If Nan could only have seen 
Dr. Preston laugh ! 

From the tea-table they could see Pocahontas 
brought up the drive, drawing the lightest of phae- 
tons. Pocahontas was a beautiful bay mare, whose 
slender form and nervous movements sufficiently be- 
spoke her gentle blood. There were many lovers 
of horse-flesh in and about Willoughby, and by them 
all Pocahontas was regarded as the most beautiful 
and the most dangerous of her kind for many a mile 
around. Mr. O’Neil, seeing her, looked uneasy. “ I 
thought, Carrie,” he said, hesitatingly, “that Law- 
rence had forbidden you to drive the mare.” 

“You thought quite right,” said Miss Preston, 
coolly. “ Lawrence is always forbidding me to do 
something. It would be quite uncomfortable, only 
that I never mind him.” 

“ But really,” remonstrated Mr. O’Neil, I feel it 
my duty — ” 


114 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“To stay at home,” laughed Miss Preston, rather 
scornfully. “ I did not mean to tempt you this 
time; I am going to take — Nan.” 

The young minister had once allowed himself to 
be driven by Miss Preston, and his first act on find- 
ing himself once more safe on terra firma, albeit a 
good deal shattered, was to go to his study, call his 
wife, and engage in a short thanksgiving for the 
preservation of his life. Margaret regretted the del- 
icacy which prevented her reproducing the scene for 
the Prestons. She had already given Nan the bene- 
fit of it, alleging it was “ too rich to keep.” 

Mr. O’Neil would have liked Margaret to forbid 
Nan’s going, but she had no thought of such a thing. 
“ I am so glad Carrie will have company,” she said. 
“ She knows she can’t have me with that creature. 
I am a pretty good cousin, I think, but I draw the 
line at risking my life.” 

Nan went, and could not help thinking the per- 
formances of Pocahontas justified even Mr. O’Neil’s 
distrust. There was nothing possible or impossible 
she did not do or attempt. She went where she 
chose; she gnashed her teeth and made vicious rush- 
es at other horses; she stood on her hind-legs and 
danced in a way that would have made her master’s 
fortune in a circus; she ran away, but just as Nan 
had given herself up for lost, stopped as suddenly as 
she had started. Miss Preston accused everything 
but Pocahontas, and excused her on the score of 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


115 


high breeding and good spirits. “ She is only in 
fun,” she managed to utter in one of the brief lucid 
intervals. Nan devoutly hoped she would never be 
in earnest. It was quite a surprise to her when she 
found herself at home again. On the whole, she 
thought it would not be a bad plan to “ draw the 
line” where the “ good cousin ” did. 

By the time they returned Columbia Street was 
alive. Shutters were thrown back, windows and 
doors wide open ; ladies in cool muslins were rock- 
ing on the piazzas, or wandering about the lawns, or 
chatting at gates ; and there was a steady stream of 
small parties flowing “ down-town ” to the ice-cream 
saloon. Dusk and darkness rapidly succeeded sun- 
set, but no one thought of going within. Visitors 
came, but never further than the piazza. Through 
rifts in the creepers they could see the broad river 
shining in the starlight, myriads of fire-flies flashing 
on its banks. “ Pinching- bugs” caused frequent 
screams ; now and then a bat occasioned a stampede. 
But for flying and creeping things, which threatened 
to make Nan’s first summer in America one long 
scream, she thought it would have been Paradise. 
Gradually even the flying things left them unmolest- 
ed, and Nan sat gazing on God’s world, which she 
thought very fair, and dreaming her dreams, which 
made it fairer still. 


CHAPTER XI. 


A fair morning in Willoughby. Margaret on 
the piazza ; Miss Preston and Nan among the roses. 
The air is so still that the voice of Mrs. General 
Jones across the way can be heard distinctly calling 
“Fawther!” The general, since retiring into pri- 
vate life, is given to taking his ease in his inn. 

Nan is in a state of repressed excitement. Her 
face is transfigured. Miss Preston looks at her in 
surprise, and says, “Why, child, you look almost 
pretty this morning.” Margaret laughs. “Oh, we 
are all accustomed to Nan’s far-off look,” she says. 

Aunt Sally, a sort of privileged character in Wil- 
loughby — spoiled by the whites and revered by the 
blacks — is seen coming round from the back re- 
gions, rolling her eyes, showing her teeth, bowing 
and courtesying, and uttering divers salutations and 
benedictions. All which, being interpreted, means 
that a boon is about to be asked. 

Miss Ma’g’t is severe at first, but is mollified 
by being pronounced “ fair-complected.” The two 
among the roses hear, and Miss Preston says, sotto 
voce , “Don’t you wonder how even a negro can tell 
such a — lie ?” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


117 


The request out at length leaves much to the 
donor’s choice. Aunt Sally desires a handful of 
flour, or an egg, or a spoonful of sugar, or a “ scrap 
o’ short’nin’ ” — any or all of the materials of a cake. 

“Mis’ Ginral Jones,” she artfully threw in, “ done 
gib me a whole big cake. But law ! Miss Ma’g’t, 
’tain’t no time at all sence the Joneses was jest pore 
white trash.” 

Mrs. O’Neil asked the occasion of the festivity. 

“Well, you see, Miss Ma’g’t,” she replied, with dig- 
nity, “us cullud pussons is gettin’ married now jest 
like white folks ; and as my ole mammy ’ll be eighty 
de day after to-morrow, we thought we’d gib her an’ 
father a weddin’.” 

“ But I thought old Chloe was bedridden,” said 
Mrs. O’Neil. 

“ So she is, shore, an’ she hain’t a toof in her ole 
head. But law ! Miss Ma’g’t, honey, that don’t hindali 
her likin’ a weddin’. She can eat cake like a good 
fellah.” 

Margaret looked stern. Her fun was all for her 
equals. And she would at once have delivered Aunt 
Sally a homily on holy matrimony, the point of 
which would have been that, under the circumstances, 
it was an occasion for humiliation and prayer rather 
than cake and lemonade, but Miss Preston bore 
Aunt Sally off, and gladdened her heart by prom- 
ising that she herself would send a cake, while Nan 
would take Aunt Chloe a wedding-present. 


118 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD'S DAUGHTER. 


Beside the kitchen porch Phyllis, a pretty mulat- 
to, was waiting eagerly. “ Oh, Miss Nannie,” she 
said, shyly, “ do you think Miss Ma’g’t would mind 
if Aunt Sally told my fortune ?” 

Nan gave the opinion that it was rather early in 
the morning for fortune-telling, and that Mrs. O’Neil 
would probably think servants should be at their 
work. 

“I got my up -stairs done, ebry bit, an’ I hain’t 
got nuffin to do for de nex’ half hour,” pleaded 
Phyllis. “ Oh , please, Miss Nannie !” 

“Why don’t you just have it told then?” asked 
wicked Nan. 

“ I would,” said Phyllis, frankly, “ but last time 
Miss Ma’g’t done cotch me.” 

A white morning-dress showing at the china-closet 
window just then, Nan preferred the request. It 
was never easy to count on what Mrs. O’Neil would 
do in any case. In this one she gave her consent, 
and with it a new silver quarter with which to cross 
Aunt Sally’s palm, but immediately spoiled the gift 
by demanding a quid pro quo . “I will hear the 
fortune,” she said, “to be sure you put no nonsense 
in that silly girl’s head.” 

“Miss Ma’g’t, honey,” protested the fortune-teller, 
“ it can’t be done nohow — not if I was nebbah to see 
a twenty-five cents again. De words wouldn’t come. 
An’ it would bring awful luck to dis yer pore yaller 
gal. Mought jist as well put her in her coffin.” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


119 


“ O Lor’ !” ejaculated Phyllis, her rich brown paling. 

Of course Aunt Sally had her way ; and Nan, re- 
turning to the roses, watched the pair as they stood 
under a spreading tulip-tree — Sally, tall and black, 
with snowy starched turban and scarlet neckerchief, 
delivering her oracle as though it had been inspired, 
and pretty Phyllis, nothing doubting that it was, de- 
vouring every word. 

“ Ye’ll be happy in de long-run,” Aunt Sally at 
last summed up, “ but dab’s trubble fust, chile.” 

And there was ! Mrs. O’Neil’s walking-boots were 
found minus a button, and Phyllis was summoned to 
answer for it. 

“Now,” Mrs. O’Neil said, “I have paid that quar- 
ter to show you the folly and the sinfulness of fort- 
une-telling. Any one who so much as mentions it 
again in my house will be dismissed on the spot.” 

It was yet early in the forenoon when four ladies 
were admitted to the convent. Mrs. Hotspur Fitz- 
hugh, the daughter of one uncompromising Presby- 
terian and the widow of another, had little sympathy 
for anything Pomish, but she appreciated the hom- 
age paid to her dead hero through herself, and w r as 
willing to give the nuns a pleasure. Miss Preston 
had an air of mingled patronage and doubt. Since 
her cousin’s fame had made his widow a lion she was 
willing to show the lion off. But then in the ante- 
bellum days her father had been the great person- 
age, and had patronized Hotspur while the latter was 


120 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


but a poor young man with liis own way to make 
in the world. The situation was confusing. Nan 
was as we have described her. As for Mrs. General 
Jones, she was fairly rampant. She saw in vision the 
entire trio, with Mr. and Mrs. O’Neil besides, brought 
into the true fold, and herself, the humble means of 
such a conquest, the recipient of an autograph bless- 
ing from the Holy Father. 

The ladies had been taken past the parlor, with its 
forbidding grate, into an inner room, where they 
might be hand to hand as well as face to face with 
the nuns. To them entered presently a black-robed 
train, the Superior at the head. 

How long Mother Frangoise had been in the 
cloister Mrs. Jones had not said; but there was an 
indescribable grace in her air and movements. The 
introductions performed by Mrs. Jones were as awk- 
ward as possible, so that, save for her widow’s garb, 
no one could possibly have told which was Mrs. 
Hotspur. But Miss Preston was equal to the occa- 
sion. Putting on her best manner, she took her cous- 
in’s hand and courteously presented her to Mother 
Frangoise; and the mother, her dark eyes filling 
with tears, gently clasped the widow in her arms and 
kissed her on both cheeks. 

While the Superior and Mrs. Fitzhugh conversed 
with mutual pleasure, the nuns, some pretty, some 
plain, seated themselves in a row, their eyes fixed 
on the ground ; Mrs. General Jones, at the end of the 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


121 


line, paying special court to an old nun who sat next 
her, and acting as a sort of wall between the cloister 
and the world. But Miss Preston again came to the 
rescue. 

“ Come, come, Mrs. Jones,” she said ; “ you can see 
the sisters at any time, but this is a red-letter day to 
us.” And forthwith they were all rearranged and 
chatting in comfortable little groups. Then three 
of the nuns sang, and the visitors were shown the 
house and garden, and were pleased with everything. 

Often Nan’s eyes turned to the Superior, and the 
attraction seemed mutual ; yet in some way, when- 
ever there seemed a chance of special speech between 
them, Miss Preston interposed. But Nan’s quick 
eyes and quicker susceptibilities scarcely needed 
words on either side. Mother Frangoise had won 
her heart — in a moment and forever. And being 
a partisan, as all enthusiastic people must be, Nan 
began to range herself already on the side of the 
nuns in the discussions that she foresaw would fol- 
low the visit. “ Wicked,” “ deceitful,” and “ bigot- 
ed” were terms she had heard invariably applied to 
Roman Catholics in general, and nuns in particular. 
Nan scanned the group even as she laughed and 
talked, and tried to decide impartially. There was 
an old nun whom she scarcely fancied. Nan thought 
Sister Anastasia might be “ deceitful and she was 
sure she was “ bigoted,” because, when the bell struck 
the hour, she broke off so abruptly from the person 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


122 


who was talking to her, and kept crossing herself 
and shaking her head long after the other nuns had 
resumed conversation. “She is a 4 Jeshuite,’ ” de- 
cided Nan. What a contrast to Mother Frangoise, 
who had listened courteously to Miss Preston till 
the latter, noticing the silence, had stopped speak- 
ing ! “ She is a lady,” said Nan, mentally, as she 

noticed the little politeness; “and a saint,” she add- 
ed, as she saw the holy, rapt look with which she 
said her prayer. “ Oh,” her thoughts ran on, “ I 
wish I knew the prayer she says, and I would say 
it all my life for her sake !” 

Did the Superior read the thought ? Already she 
knew far more of the Prestons, O’Neils, and even of 
Nan, than any of her visitors guessed. 

Just before leaving they went again to the gar- 
den to see a particular kind of tea-rose with which 
Miss Preston had been unsuccessful ; and Nan took 
a fancy to wander off by herself. As she stood in 
a far-off corner at the entrance to a grotto a hand 
was laid on her shoulder, and turning she found 
herself alone with Mother Frangoise. Each looked 
long at the other. Nan could not speak. Had she 
tried she would have burst into tears. It was as 
though there had come to her the apocalypse for 
which she had been waiting all her life. At length 
Mother Frangoise drew her within the enclosure, 
and softly said, “ Here, in the Oratory of our Lady, 
I would like to give you a loving kiss,” 


CHAPTER XII. 


When Nan reached Willoughby she had been de- 
lighted to find that the Prestons were Episcopalians. 
True, her uncle had in theory classed Episcopalians 
and Catholics together; but in practice he thought 
very highly and spoke very warmly of the *Mac- 
alasters, as well he might. Nan, therefore, came to 
the conclusion that while both Popery and Prelacy 
were sins, the latter was a pardonable and the for- 
mer an unpardonable variety of sin. And while she 
listened to Mr. O’Neil’s sermon that first Sunday 
morning, she was wondering if she would ever have 
courage to ask to go with Miss Preston — not yet, of 
course, but in that future to which Nan was always 
consigning what she found it inconvenient to do at 
once. 

Judge then how bewildered she was when at din- 
ner Miss Preston said, “ You must come with me 
this evening, Nan and Mrs. O’Neil at once coin- 
cided. Mr. O’Neil had made a faint protest by ask- 
ing what Mr. Leslie would say, and Margaret had 
turned the tables by asking what Mr. Leslie would 
say to a read sermon. So Nan went, and afterwards 
found she might go as often as she chose. 


124 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Perhaps, had it been a forbidden pleasure, Nan 
would have enjoyed it more. In itself, she could 
not help thinking, there was not much very enjoy- 
able. Virginia Episcopalianism was a little behind 
the times. 

St. Mark’s, Willoughby, groaned under the incubus 
of a phlegmatic rector — a man who had been so long 
physically bilious that he had at last become mental- 
ly and morally so. He had set out in life with fair 
prospects and more than fair abilities, and now the 
utmost that could be said for him was that he meant 
well. A man is damned by such faint praise. It 
means that he is an utter failure. 

Mr. Tolivar was a large, doughy-faced man, given 
to slangy ways of speaking and untidy ways of look- 
ing and acting. He had a taste for law, and spent 
three-fourths of his time in the Court-house. Forced 
to be a listener there, he was an incessant talker else- 
where. He was not a “ brilliant conversationalist,” 
but he was a plodding and a persevering one. His 
devotion to the Court-house left him little time for 
pastoral visits, but every visit was a visitation. A 
gossiping wife and half a dozen ill-bred boys did 
not. add to his popularity. He was, indeed, kept in 
Willoughby solely by the influence of Miss Preston’s 
uncle; and under his pastorate the male members of 
his congregation had gradually dropped off till Dear- 
ly beloved Brethren meant little, more than Dearly 
beloved General Fitzhugh . 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


125 


As for the church, an inscription on the outside 
declared it to be “The Church of the Living God, 
the Pillar and Ground of Truth but the stranger 
who compared the accessaries within with the in- 
scription without was apt to express himself severe- 
ly. There was a triple erection at the east end — the 
high middle division serving as pulpit, and the others 
as reading-desks ; and in front of these was a neglect- 
ed table, beneath which reposed all the week a broom 
and dust-pan. At the west end there was a gallery, 
which accommodated a superannuated organ, and a 
mixed choir so much addicted to those jealousies 
which are said to prevail in the musical world that 
you could never be certain who composed it. Mr. 
Tolivar wore a black gown when he preached, and 
a surplice, which was of anything but “fair white” 
linen, when he said prayers; and preaching, or pray- 
ing, or administering Holy Communion, he shuffled 
about in a pair of faded embroidered slippers, down 
at the heels, which flapped audibly at every step. 
The rector called himself a High-Churchman, which 
only shows how little there is in a name. 

Nan had once thought it would be delightful to 
soar into Episcopacy. Now she compared Mr. Toli- 
var and Mother Frangoise, and dreamed of a higher 
flight. 

On the return from the convent, Nan wished 
above everything to be alone ; to abandon herself to 
thoughts of that graceful and gracious one who, she 
9 


126 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


felt, would be the inspiration of her life. But Miss 
Preston had enjoyed the nuns, and Mrs. O’Neil 
wished to hear about them, so the} 7 lingered long 
after dinner discussing them. Nan joined in prais- 
ing the singing and abusing old Sister Anastasia ; but 
she kept the thought of Mother Frangoise in her own 
heart. But Miss Preston did not lack astuteness; 
so when they went up-stairs she called Nan into her 
room and said, “ I was going to offer you some flow- 
ers for Mother Frangoise, but I see you don’t care 
about her.” And then Nan opened her heart, and 
under the skilful questioning of her friend told her 
every thought and feeling, and how Mother Frangoise 
seemed to her as the Angel of God. 

The note that sent the flowers said little, but it 
had as postscript a request ; and the note that came 
in reply said little, but it had a line enclosed which 
Nan kept to herself. Not till bedtime had she a 
chance to look at it, and then, after a hasty glance, 
she fell on her knees and prayed : 

“ Let the adorable name of Jesus be the sweet and 
daily music of my life and the seal of my heart. 
And when in the agony and cold sweat of death I 
give the last look for mercy, may the parting sigh of 
my soul be Jesus !” 

Then Nan kissed the paper and put it under her 
pillow. She had asked for, and Mother Frangoise 
had sent, the prayer with which the nuns had marked 
the hour. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


You remember how the old woman in a certain 
nursery rhyme, being doubtful of her own identity, 
resolves to test it by the sagacity of her “ little dog.” 
Nan might well have wondered whether even Kelpie 
would know her in the new world into which she 
had been launched. 

In most respects it had been for her a veritable 
plunge into fairy-land ; and the situation was all 
the more pleasant that it was quite a surprise. In 
the first place she had had no idea of Margaret’s po- 
sition and circumstances. She knew that the minis- 
ter, and the Campbells, and other friends had consid- 
ered Mr. O’Neil an excellent match ; but then, on 
the other hand, the Macalasters had thought the Lady 
Cockleorum’s neck might have stretched even higher. 
She knew the Prestons shared the O’Neils’ house, or 
vice versa , but she had innocently supposed that 
the arrangement was like that in some of the Strath- 
lowrie houses, when one small family took the ground 
and another the first floor. And though Margaret 
had in her letters indulged in a good deal of glorifi- 
cation as to the attentions paid to her husband and 


128 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


herself, she had supposed this owing to their popu- 
larity. Margaret’s real position quite bewildered 
her. 

And then her own lot was more bewildering still. 
The minister had desired her to go on with her stud- 
ies. “ Remember, my girl, you have only begun to 
learn. Get Hugh to keep up your Latin, and Marga- 
ret your music ; and whenever you have a spare hour, 
give it to your books.” Nan had expected that Mar- 
garet would be very strict with her, and would re- 
quire a good deal of plain-sewing — of which she was 
not very fond. And as for society — she had never 
expected to know anything about that until she be- 
gan to be famous. She had anticipated a round of 
prayer-meetings and missionary meetings and tem- 
perance meetings ; and instead of that she was going 
to have a round of real parties. The coming of Mrs. 
Hotspur Fitzhugh, just emerged from the seclusion 
of her widowhood, had been the signal for a series of 
festivities among the grandees of Willoughby — the 
innumerable Fitzhugh tribe taking the lead. And 
Margaret had decided that as there were girls young- 
er than Nan in society, she might as well “ make the 
plunge,” as she expressed it, at once. And there, 
thought Nan, was Tory in the old Manse, studying, 
sewing, balancing house-keeping accounts, in which 
the minister’s lynx eye permitted no “ sundries ; ” her 
amusements a day with the old Macalasters, or a 
dinner at Mr. Campbell’s, or a “ soiree ” in the church, 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


129 


with a paper bag of buns and weak tea unlimited, 
all for the trifling consideration of sixpence. 

And yet when Nan thought' it over — which was 
not often — she could not help fancying that Marga- 
ret was even less satisfactory than she used to be. 
She had not been cross to her yet, and to the Pres- 
tons she was invariably suave; but to the servants 
she seemed always cross and unreasonable. Nan had, 
of course, discovered that the days of negro whippings 
against which she had been prepared to testify were 
over; but she thought the continual scolding almost 
more trying than blows. And then, in regard to her- 
self, Margaret had a way of sneering at her cherished 
beliefs, and of throwing cold water on her enthusi- 
asms, that often made her unhappy. To sensitive 
Nan a word or two would suffice, particularly if ac- 
companied by Margaret’s sneering laugh. Nan was 
quoting Mr. Leslie to Miss Preston one day, and call- 
ed him “ Papa,” as she had always done. “ Oh,” 
said Mrs. O’Neil, “do you keep up that habit yet?” 
And then to Miss Preston, “ She means my father.” 
Nan blushed and stammered, her eyes filled with 
tears; the tale came to a lame and impotent conclu- 
sion, and after that Mr. Leslie was always “Uncle 
Robert.” Then, though Margaret got her the neces- 
sary dresses, it was Miss Preston who was interested 
in the making and fitting, and all the little details of 
her gala attire. Nan remembered how everybody in 
the house used to gather about and admire mamma 


130 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


on the rare occasions when she was to dine at the 
Castle ; and how the children never thought of going 
to any little festivity without displaying themselves 
to everybody in the house. Why, even the scapegrace 
Davie used to be interested in the muslin frocks and 
the sashes. And now if Margaret said anything, it 
was very apt to make Nan feel rather uncomfortable 
than otherwise: “For goodness’ sake, Nan, don’t look 
as if you had swallowed a poker!” And then she 
would imitate Miss Macramrod : “ The edge of your 
chairs, young ladies, and feet in the first, third, or 
fifth position.” Nan thought of the past and its 
poor little fineries with a tender regret. 

But not for long. She had wished to win fame 
and fortune, so that the world might pay court to 
her, and lo ! the world was paying court to her al- 
ready. Then she had the Prestons to soften Mar- 
garet’s asperities, and she had the thought of Mother 
Fran§oise always present. So that she spent half 
her time in the world of frivolity, and the other half 
in the world of romance. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


General Fitzhugh, the Prestons’ uncle, was the 
great man of Willoughby, and his descendants per- 
vaded the place. There were Colonel Fitzhugh 
and Colonel Preston Fitzhugh, and Judge John and 
Judge Harry — all the old general’s sons. Dr. Pres- 
ton confided to Nan that the only thing that made 
him regret having taken his degree was the title 
it conferred ; as his life-long ambition had been, to 
be the only untitled person in Willoughby. As it 
was, his professional rank seemed, in the eyes of both 
white and black, a poor thing when weighed against 
the civic and military honors of his relations ; and to 
Algernon Charles Fitzgerald in particular this had 
been the occasion of innumerable heart-burnings 
and “cro wings over.” That a rising physician and 
scientist like Dr. Lawrence Preston should settle in 
little Willoughby, even though it was his birthplace, 
was matter of surprise to every one but his fellow 
towns- people. His scientific friends in Germany, 
where he had studied, thought him mad to return 
to the New World at all. Among religious people 
he had the reputation of having brought home some 
very strange opinions. No one could tell exactly 


132 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


what they were, so no one knew exactly what to call 
him — doubter, deist, atheist — the convenient term ag- 
nostic not being yet in common use. Mothers with 
marriageable daughters shook their heads when his 
name was mentioned, and said it was “so sad,” yet 
none the less courted him for a son-in-law. They 
had charity enough to distinguish between the sin 
and the sinner. Did not the apostle say that the 
unbelieving husband might be sanctified by the 
believing wife? And dear Minnie or dear Georgie 
had always been such a devout darling. 

Notwithstanding his reputation, there was noth- 
ing Mephistophelean in the appearance of Lawrence 
Preston. A tall, broad-shouldered, straight-limbed 
man of thirty or so, with frank blue eyes, set in a clear- 
cut, resolute face, closely cropped curling fair hair, 
and rather long beard, there was something in his 
appearance most attractive and winning. Looking 
at him, you got the impression that he would laugh 
at the worst that could be said of him. And he did, 
heartily. For, after all, what could be said ? His 
version of the matter was, that people gave them- 
selves an immense deal of trouble to find out what 
his religious opinions were, while his real crime was 
an entire absence of religious opinions. He neither 
scoffed at religion nor religious people. And while 
he had very definite opinions in matters of taste — 
Mr. Tolivar and the “ human hymns” included — he 
generally kept them to himself. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


133 


In the society of Willoughby there had really 
been more prejudice against Dr. Preston’s politics 
than his religion, or want of religion. It had at first 
almost broken his sister’s heart that he, a Virginia 
Preston, should be politically a Yankee. In her 
opinion the entire State had been too lukewarm ; she 
would have liked it to breathe hate and defiance and 
undying hostility — like South Carolina. And now 
here was her own brother, with the proudest blood 
of the South in his veins, turning against them all 
— a Brahmin losing caste was nothing to it. So 
all Willoughby thought. To the average Southern 
mind of that time a New Englander would never be 
what our neighbors across the Channel call a person 
born ; and the people of Willoughby, not being as 
far south as they would have liked to be, thought 
it their duty to be terrible fire-eaters. How the 
young doctor enjoyed it when he knew that society 
had once proposed to ostracize him ! But for Mrs. 
O’Neil he never would have known it. But she, 
having adopted from the first the aristocratic side of 
the question, had been the recipient of certain confi- 
dences in regard to the misguided young man. Mrs. 
Benjamin, a tall, angular woman, who did her best 
to hide a really kind heart under a thousand ridicu- 
lous pretensions, imparted to her that she felt strong- 
ly on the subject on account of her growing family 
of daughters, who would soon be old enough to enter 
society. Of course Margaret told the Prestons, and 


134 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

Miss Preston was so indignant at the thought of 
her rich, handsome, and distinguished brother conde- 
scending to cast a thought on the pert, tadpole-like 
Benjamins, that she was afterwards not half so bitter 
against him. Then an elderly young lady, who dur- 
ing the war had so glaringly insulted the Union offi- 
cers that she was put in ward till she had taken the 
oath of allegiance (her contumacy lasted exactly twen- 
ty-four hours), used to make a wide detour whenever 
she saw Lawrence approaching, drawing her skirts 
ostentatiously aside as though to prevent his touch- 
ing the hem of her garment. She did this till Miss 
Preston calmly cut her before the eyes of assembled 
Willoughby; and then she made the detour no more. 

There was, in truth, such a sad lack of eligible 
young men in Willoughby that the mere fact of 
being one might have covered a multitude of sins. 
This scarcity was put down to the war. A fearful 
calamity farther east and farther south, the “late un- 
pleasantness” was to places like Willoughby a perfect 
godsend. Was an income scarcely large enough to 
make both ends meet? The war! Was there plated 
stuff instead of plate? The war! Was a husband 
given to dissipation ? The war ! Was a wife’s tem- 
per soured ? The war ! Above all, was a lady fading 
into the sere and yellow leaf, w T itli never a prospect 
of matrimony ? The war! There was not an elder- 
ly young lady in town the reproach of whose single 
estate was not taken away by some phantom lover. 


CHAPTER XV. 


The eve of old Chloe’s wedding found Nan at 
Aunt Sally’s with the promised present. As she 
made her way to the corner where the n egress lay 
under a gay patchwork quilt, Dr. Preston rose -from 
beside the bed and greeted her. The bride, by tast- 
ing the entire collection of cakes, had brought on a 
“ misery,” and scorning the services of her kinsman, 
Dr. Coffepot, had insisted on having “ Marse Law- 
rence.” 

The bride was by this time convalescent, or, as she 
described it, “ tol’able peart.” Her face was about 
the size and shape of a small monkey’s; her *eyes 
rolled with festive anticipation ; her hair was plaited 
in a hundred small tails, in preparation for the mor- 
row, according to the universal custom of negroes, 
whose great ambition seems to be to add to their 
general crimpiness. 

Aunt Sally regarded the mammy critically. 
“ She’ll do fust-rate, honey,” she said to Nan, “ if I 
can only git her some store flowers for a wreath.” 

“How will this do?” asked Nan; and opening 
the parcel, she displayed a structure — half cap, half 


136 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


turban — made of soft gauze, with a spray of orange- 
flowers. There was a neckerchief to match. 

Of course old Chloe would try the finery on. 
And then she chuckled till she choked, so that Aunt 
Sally had to pull her up, and slap her on the back, and 
shake her; under cover of which excitement Nan 
and Dr. Preston made their escape; not, however, 
without the former being taken aside to see the new 
five-dollar greenback the young doctor had given the 
mammy. “ He done tole her ’twas his fee,” laughed 
Sally. “Law! Miss Nannie, there ain’t no Yankee 
about Marse Lawrence.” 

No sooner were they fairly off again than a halt 
was called, and Dr. Preston intrusted with two ar- 
ticles — one for Nan, the other for himself — done up 
in white paper and tied w r ith white ribbon. The 
packages were to have been sent after them, as Sally 
took care to explain, but mammy had insisted on 
their being delivered at once. 

“ The plot thickens,” said Dr. Preston, when at 
last they were fairly off. “ Do you think it is bride’s 
cake ?” 

“No danger of mammy allowing that to escape 
her,” laughed Nan. “But let us see.” 

It was not bride’s cake, but a copy of the wedding 
hymn, painted, framed, and glazed. The bridegroom 
drove a water-cart and composed “hymes,” and the 
one for the happy occasion was his work. There 
was a stirring chorus — 


CAPTAIN MACDONALDS DAUGHTER. 


137 


“ Now let us all of color join 
In Christian love to pull, 

And let the host of Satan still 
Pronounce our hair as wool 1” 

The doctor roared. “ What a glorious chance the 
host of Satan will have to-morrow ! Fancy that little 
old face, about the size and color of a cocoa-nut, look- 
ing out from a mountain of white wool !” 

“You forget how the wool will be toned down 
by my turban,” said Nan. “And I have no doubt 
your five dollars will go for more finery.” 

“No,” the doctor laughed ; “ that is safe for water- 
millions. I dare say Chloe will be beyond my skill 
the day after to-morrow.” 

It might have added to the amusement of Nan and 
the doctor to know that the wool was further toned 
down by the neckerchief being attached to the cap 
and worn as a bridal-veil. Meantime, though they 
laughed, each admired the true kindness of the other, 
so that Chloe’s wedding really began their friend- 
ship. 

Dr. Preston proposed a walk, but Nan had to 
hasten home to dress for a party at Colonel Fitz- 
hugh’s. Colonel Fitzhugh was the general’s favor- 
ite son ; but though he had lately celebrated his 
silver wedding, his wife had never entered her fa- 
ther-in-law’s house. She had been a beauty in her 
way-— a bold, gypsy way ; but the beauty had waned 
and the boldness waxed, She always spoke of the 


138 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


colonel as having run away with her, but everybody 
knew she had run away with him. He was then 
but a youth at Yale, and she, years older, was the 
daughter of the keeper of a country inn to which 
the students did much resort. She was good-nat- 
ured, eccentric, and amusing, and she always spoke 
of the general as though he was her best friend. 

When our party reached Belleville they found a 
perfect crush. The hostess was in the thickest of 
it, commencing a performance with a black-and-tan 
terrier. 

“ Stand there, Constance darling,” she was say- 
ing to Mrs. Hotspur, in her deep contralto tones, 
“so that you can hear his magnificent trills.” Tying 
a ridiculous little bonnet on the creature, she set 
him on her knee, on his hind-legs, facing her. Then 
she threw back her head and began an operatic air. 

The dog threw back his head and joined his tones 
with hers. His mistress imitated all the stage agonies, 
and Pluto John imitated her. Once Mrs. Colonel 
stopped, and Pluto John, having just got well into a 
shake, went on alone, and did not pause even when 
Nan laughed aloud, though he gave her a reproach- 
ful side-glance. The beast was certainly uncanny. 

“ As good as old Chloe,” said Dr. Preston. 

“ Oh !” cried Nan, “ it makes me think of Kelpie !” 
and rushing forward impulsively she kissed Pluto 
John. 

“You darling!” exclaimed Mrs. Colonel; and 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD'S DAUGHTER. 


139 


forthwith, much to Nan’s embarrassment, she repaid 
the kiss with interest. 

Then General Beauregard — a white poodle — was 
introduced, and a bit of cake sent for. Just as his 
teeth were about to close on the morsel his mistress 
said “ General Grant,” on which the poodle turned 
disgusted away. But the moment “ General Lee” 
was said the cake disappeared. This performance 
excited a good deal of interest, some of the guests 
declaring the trick lay in the order in which the 
names were pronounced, while Miss Preston suggest- 
ed that her cousin gave a private pinch at Grant’s 
name. But Mrs. Fitzhugh challenged investigation ; 
and the same result invariably occurring, no matter 
how the names were said, or who said them, Gen- 
eral Beauregard retired, gorged and covered with 
glory. 

Nan meanwhile lingered at Mrs. Hotspur’s side, 
and was told of a lovely souvenir the nuns of 
Willoughby had sent her — a specimen of their own 
exquisite work. “ But I care most for the beau- 
tiful note that came with it,” said Mrs. Hotspur. 
“I shall keep both always.” 

Nan looked at the sweet, refined face beside her. 
It, as well as that of Mother Frangoise, was the face 
of one who had found peace. Then peace might be 
reached by different ways. Mrs. Hotspur, again like 
the Superior, seemed to have the power of reading 
her thoughts. 


140 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“ My dear/’ she said, taking her arm and drawing 
her into the cool and fragrant conservatory, “ Carrie 
lias been talking to me of you, and you must forgive 
me if I warn you against yielding your spirit to what 
in reality has only captivated your senses. I can see 
how, to one of your tastes, Romanism has many temp- 
tations unknown to a matter-of-fact person like myself. 
And I can imagine that Mother Frangoise (whom I 
like much, though I do not see her with your eyes) is 
a thousand times more congenial to you than most 
people you meet, and how her religion — so much of 
it as she chooses to show you, at any rate — may seem 
more attractive than your own. But the question is, 
whether your conscience approves the teaching en- 
tirely regardless of the teacher. Would you be quite 
as charmed with it were its interpreter, say, Sister 
Anastasia ?” 

Nan laughed. “Poor old thing!” she said, “ ev- 
erybody except Mrs. Jones seems to hate her.” 

“Yet she may be the next Superior! Think of 
that — or, rather, do not think of people at all, but 
principles.” 

Colonel Fitzhugh was seen coming for Mrs. Hot- 
spur. “ I fear,” said the latter to Nan, “ we shall not 
have much opportunity for conversation to-night. 
But I must see you when neither of us shall be so 
much in demand. Society must not have all my 
time, nor,” she added, smiling, “ Mother Frangoise all 
yoursJ* 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


141 


Of course Nan was pleased and flattered. Who 
would not have been ? Here was one whom the 
entire South delighted to honor interested in her, 
seeking her. It was very pleasant. 

“ Well, what do you think of Carrie’s flame ?” ask- 
ed Colonel Fitzhugh of his cousin. “ I hope she is 
not a second edition of Mrs. O’Neil.” 

“ I confess I share Carrie’s interest,” replied Mrs. 
Hotspur. “Nan is not the least like Mrs. O’Neil. 
Poor child ! I wish she had a safer guide. Young 
as she is, she strikes me as sure to have a history. I 
am not so sure,” she thought to herself, “ that it will 
be a happy one.” 

In the supper-rooin, above the hubbub two voices 
rose ; Mr. Tolivar, at the colonel’s instance, was at- 
tempting to say grace, and Mrs. Colonel, whose fa- 
ther, the innkeeper, had been a fat old German, was 
asking Dr. Preston if he had ever chanced while in 
the Fatherland to meet her aunts the countesses. 

Dr. Preston smiled. “ Germany is a wide world,” 
he said, “and one that abounds in countesses.” 

Mrs. Harry Fitzhugh, a frail, washed- out- looking 
little body, but one of the nicest of the Fitzhugh 
clan, was listening in horror and indignation. “ To 
think that Lawrence knew all her history,” she said, 
afterwards, “ and that she hnew that he hnewP 

Mrs. Colonel was penurious, so that her refresh- 
ments were never satisfactory. “Did you ever see 
such slush?” Colonel Preston was asking his wife, as 
10 


142 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


he handed her something supposed to be ice-cream. 
“ She’s a disgrace to the family !” 

“ Isn’t the flavor delicious?” Mrs. Colonel was ask 
ing Mrs. Hotspur. Dowagers ate and drank, and 
fanned and talked, and Mrs. O’Neil kept them well 
amused ; young people ate and drank, and danced and 
flirted. Miss Preston always danced, and danced well. 
Mrs. Benjamin poured out floods of gossip, but having 
a guilty way of keeping her eye fixed on the person 
she was talking abo.ut, all the world could guess pretty 
well who the victim was. Then, being a regular Mrs. 
Malaprop, she invariably caught herself telling her 
most thrilling stories to the wrong people, so that 
she was continually breaking off abruptly to exclaim, 
u Oh ! I forgot you were her aunt “ Oh, goodness ! 
you’re her sister-in-law.” The elderly young lady 
who had tried to snub Dr. Preston kept her Roman 
nose well in the air as she neared him in the dance ; 
and as she was more nose than anything else, it was 
interesting to watch her. The belle of Willoughby 
was Colonel Fitzhugh’s young step-sister, a tall, slen- 
der girl of that rare type of beauty which unites the 
fairest complexion and golden hair with dark eyes 
and lashes and brows. Edith Fitzhugh had a penni- 
less suitor whom the General in a rage had ordered 
out of the house, thereby giving a zest to meetings 
elsewhere ; for Diaz was always obtaining interviews 
in order to bid Edith an eternal farewell. The Mex- 
ican was musical, and a composer, and on this occa- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


113 


sion made the sensation of the evening by singing 
“ Tears, Idle Tears!” to an arrangement of his own. 
He sang with passionate expression, and every one 
knew what it meant. J?oor Edith, in a dark corner 
of the piazza, listened with awe; and when, dashing 
into a reckless allegro , he finished with Byron’s “ Re- 
mind Me Not !” she felt that at least one more inter- 
view would be absolutely necessary, if she did not 
mean to have his blood required at her hands. 

“ Isn’t it enough to make one’s flesh creep ?” asked 
Mrs. Colonel, tragically, meeting Dr. Preston with 
Nan in the hall. 

“ Yes,” said the doctor, decidedly ; “ mine creeps 
to take him by the collar and turn him out of the 
house and out of the town — the contemptible 
hound !” » 

Mrs. Colonel gave one of her loud laughs. “My 
lord takes everything an se.rieux ,” she said. 

Nan stared. She did not know that her hostess 
sometimes fell into what she considered “European” 
modes of address — probably inherited from her aunts 
the countesses ! 

Mrs. Colonel laughed again. “ I am going to take 
you two and Carrie to see my studio before you go,” 
she said. “It is only my greatest favorites I take 
there. Don’t you go and bring Margaret O’Neil !” 

Miss Preston being found, seemed not overjoyed 
at the treat in store, but submitted. 

“A musician and an artist,” said Nan to Miss Pres- 


144 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


ton, as they went up-stairs ; “ she must be an Admi- 
rable Crichton.” 

“ Oh, studio is a comprehensive term with Mrs. 
Fitzhugh,” said Miss Preston, dryly. “ I believe it 
is cats at present, is it not, Luella 2” 

Cats it was. There were paintings — execrable ones 
— on the walls and on easels. There were also some 
bits of wood-carving and some models in clay, not 
bad. But Mrs. Fitzhugh’s latest triumph was as a 
taxidermist. Cats of all colors, ages, and sizes adorn- 
ed the studio; but, as the Admirable Crichton point- 
ed out, the chief variety was in the position. There 
were cats couchant , cats statant , cats sejant , cats ram- 
pant, cats in every position known to heraldry, and 
cats in many positions more suggestive of Punch 
and Judy than of that noble science. There was no 
speculation in their yellow eyes, but a good deal in 
their mouths, which had been skilfully managed. Mrs. 
Fitzhugh showed with pride an especially character- 
istic specimen of the genus Cheshire. 

“ But what an astonishing fatality there must have 
been !” exclaimed Lawrence, after paying the expect- 
ed compliments. 

The hostess had the grace to look confused. She 
had boasted of skinning, curing, and stuffing; but 
a dark certainty took possession of her visitors that 
she had also performed the preliminary process. 
“ By Jove!” said Lawrence to himself, “I believe 
she would stuff any of us to keep her hand in.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


The morning after the party at Belleville showed 
Nan what Virginia could do in the way of rain. She 
had been luxuriating in a sky of Italian blueness 
and cloudlessness — a sky that you need not be con- 
stantly watching for probabilities. And now there 
was worse than a Scotch mist, more than a Scotch 
deluge, and all unredeemed by the wonderful dis- 
solving views that used to play upon the Strathlowrie 
hills even in the worst of weather. The beautiful 
tea-roses were pelted heavily downward, their deli- 
cate petals soaked into the black mud. Everything 
looked drear and unlovely. 

“Well,” said Miss Preston, as the ladies sat in the 
library which a wood fire brightened, “for once I 
don’t mind the rain. I shall be very glad to have 
one quiet day.” 

“Yes,” Mrs. O’Neil agreed, “it is delightful to 
think we can ‘keep ourselves to ourselves,’ as Mrs. 
General Jones says. I am sick of seeing people.” 

“I could never tire of that,” said Nan, enthusias- 
tically. “But oh! I wonder what Tory is doing? 
Perhaps she will go up to the attic and look over — ” 


146 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“You little goose!” laughed Miss Preston; “I 
really believe you think it rains in Scotland when- 
ever it rains in Willoughby. I should be sorry if 
it rained in Willoughby whenever it rains in Scot- 
land.” 

“ God forbid !” said Mrs. O’Neil, with a shiver. 
And opening the piano she began one of the Lieder 
softly, so as to hear and join in the conversation 
when she chose. 

Miss Preston sat watching Nan’s crochet hook, and 
some pretty trifle rapidly growing in her hands. “ I 
don’t wonder that gentlemen are captivated by see- 
ing ladies w T ork.” 

“But are they?” asked Nan. “I always thought 
there were two things they specially detested — lap- 
dogs and fancy-work.” 

“ Lap-dogs, doubtless, but not fancy-work. They 
think it is only an unwomanly woman who can’t do 
it;” and Miss Preston sighed. She had tried plain 
sewing and embroidery and crochet, all with fearful 
results. Phyllis said, “ Miss Car’line’s fingahs is all 
thumbs.” 

“Why don’t you get a dog?” suggested Nan. 
“Not a lap-dog, but a great big one.” 

“ And have my clothes ruined ! That great creat- 
ure at the convent left his paw-marks on my new 
gray walking-dress, besides nearly giving me hydro- 
phobia. I hate dogs. Who that had the misfortune 
to be Luella’s cousin-in-law would not?” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


147 


“ I would not. I love dogs of every sort — big and 
little, pretty- and ugly, kind and cross. What would 
I not give to see Kelpie !” 

“Why not hate Luella?” Margaret asked Miss 
Preston. “That would be more just and — ” 

“ Speak of angels,” etc. Alas ! there was one per- 
son in Willoughby whose movements were not de- 
pendent. on the weather. The library door was 
opened and Bridget announced — 

“ The Mis’ Colonel, mum !” 

“The Mis’ Colonel” delaying her entrance for a 
moment, Margaret wrathfully rang the bell. 

“Now, Margaret,” cried the deep voice, as its owner 
appeared, “don’t ring to know why Bridget showed 
me in instead of Algy, for I will tell you. What is 
the use of being a relation if you are forever stand- 
ing on ceremony? I just came in by the side porch, 
and then I ran out to the kitchen to give Bridget my 
umbrella. I think I will stay to dinner: something- 
or-other soup, tenderloin steak, roast chickens, and a 
roly-poly so like a corpse that Bridget might hold a 
wake over it — ha ! ha ! ha !” 

Mrs. O’Neil was furious, the more so that Miss 
Preston laughed. She thought seriously of sending 
Mrs. Fitzhugh out of the house and never speak- 
ing to her again. And then to think of Bridget, to 
whose discretion she had generously left the choice 
of a pudding, basely consulting her own vulgar in- 
stincts and making a roly-poly! But before she had. 


14S 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


time to pour out her vial Mrs. Fitzhngh turned to 
the others — 

“I’ve just come from the dentist’s. Dr. Wagner 
was surprised to see me on such an awful day ; but 
I told him if it rained pitchforks I would never give 
up keeping an appointment till he gave up charging 
for it. I had him there. He’s a perfect Yankee.” 

“I thought he was a German,” said Miss Preston. 

“ A German like me, why don’t you say, Carrie ? 
for that’s what you mean. So he is, in race ; but in 
principle he’s a Yankee like my Lord Lawrence.” 

When Mrs. Colonel Fitzhugh left home, she had 
expressed her intention of looking in at the O’Neils 
and stirring up the animals. This game of mental 
gymnastics she was now engaged in. 

“Do you know everybody in Willoughby is talk- 
ing about you, darling?” she now said to Nan. 

“About me!” repeated Nan, astonished. “Was 
it for kissing Pluto John ?” 

“Oh, you innocent! you are letting out that Mar- 
garet has been giving you fits for what everybody 
thought just too sweet. No, it’s your family history, 
bless you !” 

Margaret grew pale with anger, Nan red with 
tshame. Could it be, the latter wondered, that peo- 
ple in Virginia knew about the scraps of paper with 
the mystic letters at their head ? 

Mrs. Colonel saw an outburst coming and rushed 
on. “ They say you were stolen in infancy, and that 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


149 


nobody knows exactly who you are, but that it is sus- 
pected you are the only daughter and heiress of an 
English duke. Wouldn’t I like to be in your shoes !” 

Nan was much relieved. “ I think they might 
have invented something better than the invariable 
plot of a dime novel,” said Miss Preston, dryly. 

“For they say you , Carrie!” cried Mrs. O’Neil, in 
wrath. “There is only one person in Willoughby 
an courant of the nobility of Europe. I am so glad 
it was not a German countess.” 

It was now Mrs. Colonel’s turn to redden. She 
felt certain they had been discussing her questions 
to Lawrence, and, as a consequence, her ancestral 
tree. There is no knowing what might have been 
said or done next but for Dr. Preston’s entrance, 
under cover of which Mrs. Colonel took herself off. 

“But surely you are not walking on such a day,” 
exclaimed Lawrence, as he assisted her in putting on 
an old water-proof cloak which Bridget would have 
scorned. 

“ Catch me having out a two-thousand-dollar car- 
riage in such weather ! It is a day to be on, not in, 
one’s own conveyance and she displayed a pair of 
feet which she considered captivating. “ The mud 
I got out of a hole in your sidewalk. Oh, by-the- 
way, here’s a religious conundrum for the parson : 
Why is his sidewalk like the other world ? You 
give it up ? Because ifs got a bad place in it. II a ! 
ha! Mr. O’Neil can give that at the next prayer- 


150 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


meeting. I always make my own conundrums, and 
then I — ” 

“ Always know the answer,” said Lawrence, and 
he bowed the firebrand off. 

It is needless to say that Margaret’s first proceed- 
ing was peremptorily to forbid the appearance of the 
objectionable roly-poly — an order heard by N an with 
dismay, and by Algernon Charles with ill-concealed 
rapture. It was only after Dr. Preston interposed, 
judiciously blending the intercession with great in- 
dignation against the obnoxious Mrs. Colonel, that 
the edict was revoked. After all, it was the pud- 
ding’s appearance that put them all in good-humor 
again, for even Margaret could not resist the long, 
smooth proportions, but laughed hysterically, and so 
far forgot her prejudices as to be helped twice. 

And Nan laughed as heartily as any one, perhaps ; 
but in her heart she was thinking what a treat — re- 
served for high days and holidays — a roly-poly had 
been at the Manse ; and wishing, “ Oh, if I could 
only share everything with papa and Tory I” 

Miss Preston did not care for a siesta on a cool 
day, so she bore Nan off to her room after dinner. 
“ I never can talk to you before Lady Cockleorum,” 
she said. “ I really believe that creature has no 
soul.” 

Nan had a slight headache and a slight heartache. 
She was just a little homesick for Tory and all their 
simple pleasures, and for the minister, who had hith- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


151 


erto stood between her and the world. This same 
world was not all so bright as Nan had fancied. It 
had its dark days, and its disagreeable people, and its 
gossip ; and she hated disagreeable things. 

But Miss Preston put her on her sofa and took a 
low seat beside her, and put the golden curls down 
beside Nan’s dark, straight locks. And partly from 
curiosity, but more from interest, she soon drew out 
of Nan the whole story of her life — the attic and the 
half-crown incidents excepted. Nan was determined 
never to tell the story of her father’s shortcomings 
—or her own. 

How angry Mrs. O’Neil would have been had she 
known ! and how surprised to hear the proud Vir- 
ginian’s commentary! — “Why, dear little Nan, it is 
a perfect idyl, a thousand times better than our pro- 
saic life here.” And then she exhorted Nan to cheer 
up, and asked her if she would not take her as her 
sister, Tory being so far off. And then and there 
they swore eternal friendship. 

And Nan went on to speak of her mother — her 
own mother she called her now — being on the same 
continent wit!) the grave she longed to see. And she 
confided to her friend that she thought she would 
have been afraid of her father, had he lived, but that 
she was sure she would have adored her mother. 
Her uncle had given her the “Vida Devota” when 
she left; and now declaring her headache all gone, 
she ran to her room for it, to show it to Miss Preston. 


152 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


The latter admired it as much as Nan desired, and 
knowing something of the intrinsic value of the old 
plates and the rich binding and clasps, she, too, began 
to weave a romance about Mercedes Guzman. 

“ Are you like your mother?” she asked Nan. 

“ Oil no !” cried Nan, eagerly, resenting the ques- 
tion on her mother’s account. “ Papa — I mean my 
uncle — once told me I was like my father, though 
he was tall and pale, and very much better looking. 
No one ever described my mother to me: indeed, no 
one at the Manse had ever seen her ; but I fancy her 
young and radiant, like that Madonna of Murillo’s 
in the library.” 

When next Miss Preston happened to be alone 
with Mrs. O’Neil she said, “You don’t know how I 
wish that child had a mother. If ever she should 
turn Catholic, it will be simply from that longing for 
mother-love which their culte of the Blessed Virgin 
satisfies.” 

“ It is just possible,” said Margaret, with a peculiar 
smile, “ that we may be able to satisfy her longing in 
another way.” 

“What do you mean, Margaret? You are as 
mysterious as Luella.” 

“ Carrie,” asked Margaret, “ if I tell you something 
connected with Nan, will you promise faithfully 
never to breathe it till I give you permission?” 

“Why not? — yes.” 

“ Not even to Lawrence ?” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


153 


“ Not even to Lawrence . 55 

The door was open. Margaret rose and closed it, 
and then glanced round the room. Was she think- 
ing of her confidences to Sophy Campbell, and Davie 
listening under the sofa ? 

Then she came close to Miss Preston and said, 
“ Nan’s mother is no more dead than I am ! 55 


CHAPTER XVII. 


During the last fortnight of Mrs. Hotspur’s stay 
in Willoughby Nan led a dual life. Almost every 
evening there was a party somewhere ; and she never 
missed one, and never failed to enjoy one. But at 
the same time she had utterly set aside Mrs. Hot- 
spur’s warning, and yielded herself without reserve 
to the fascination of Mother Francoise. 

She had seen her many times since their first meet- 
ing — once or twice with Miss Preston, oftener with 
Mrs. General Jones, oftener still alone. The Su- 
perior never introduced religious discussions, or re- 
ferred to any differences between them, and seemed 
to shrink from Mrs. General Jones’s allusions to 
them. While Mrs. Jones was speaking, she listened 
to her politely ; as soon as she ceased, the subject 
was changed. If anything or anybody about the 
convent offended Nan’s tastes or wounded her sus- 
ceptibilities, it would never be Mother Frangoise. 

And yet her tastes, and perhaps something deeper, 
were offended. A closer acquaintance with the Su- 
perior had only deepened her admiration for her, 
but a closer acquaintance with the convent had sur- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


155 


prised and disappointed her. She had expected bare 
floors and wooden chairs, and all the outward and 
visible signs of holy poverty, but she had not ex- 
pected the cheap-looking, almost tawdry, decorations 
of the altar and the gaudy coloring of the pictures, 
and she was horrified at finding the statue of the 
Blessed Virgin in the Community-room dressed in 
spangled muslin. She could imagine Sister Anastasia 
or Mrs. General Jones approving such things, but 
she could not imagine Mother Francoise permitting 
them. Poverty seemed to her no excuse. Were 
she Superior, she said to herself, she would soon 
change it all. She would sweep away most of the 
trash — that was what she called it — and have only 
one or two really good things. The spangled dress 
she considered as bad in its way as Mr. Tolivar’s 
slippers. 

Mrs. Hotspur had recommended Nan to make her 
decisions matters of principle, not of persons. There 
was danger now of her making them mere matters 
of taste. 

Of course she was unjust. The old established 
foundation from which the nuns of Willoughby 
came had everything that could satisfy the most 
fastidious; and if the exiles did not grumble at the 
change, it was not that they did not feel it. But in 
their view it was absolutely necessary to express cer- 
tain ideas and events objectively; and as they had 
no money to do what the Mother-house had done, it 


156 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


was not wonderful that the result should be dif- 
ferent. 

Then Nan thought of something she could do for 
them, and in doing it deeply offended Margaret. 

The Prestons had a portfolio of beautiful engrav- 
ings which they had brought from abroad, and among 
them were two of sacred art’s greatest treasures, the 
Sistine Madonna — not the entire picture, but the 
Mother and the Holy Child ; and Nan screwed up 
her courage and asked Miss Preston to give one to 
the nuns. Miss Preston was generous where she 
loved, and she told Nan she would give it to her in 
a minute, but that it would be in her opinion wrong 
to encourage, even by the gift of a picture, what she 
considered gross superstition. 

Nan was terribly disappointed, but thought no 
more of the matter. But a day or two after she saw 
in the window of a cabinet-maker a precisely similar 
engraving, beautifully framed. She ran in to ask 
the price, but was told it was not for sale. 

“But how much would it be if it were?” asked 
Nan. 

Tlie man was not sure, but certainly not less than 
thirty or forty dollars. 

Thirty or forty dollars ! As far as Nan was con- 
cerned, it might as well have been thirty or forty 
crown diamonds. Her little stock of pocket-money 
had almost vanished already, and Margaret had said 
nothing about giving her more. Then she felt 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


157 


ashamed of having asked for the picture. She had 
had no idea of its value. 

As she was leaving the shop she almost ran against 
a lady — Miss Preston. “ Oh,” said the latter, “ I was 
just looking for you. How do you like your picture 
now ?” 

“ Oh !” cried Nan, “ is it your picture? I thought 
it was another.” 

“I said yours, not mine.” 

“ Oh, Carrie, I could not possibly take it ! I did 
not know it was yours, and I asked the man the 
price, and — ” 

“ And so the nuns are to go without it, after all ?” 

“Oh, Carrie!” exclaimed Nan again, her face all 
aglow, “ is it really for them, after all ?” 

“It is for you to do exactly what you like with. 
But remember, I have not changed my mind. I 
happened to mention it to Lawrence, and he said 
that one of the copies was his, and that you should 
have it.” 

“How kind of him!” cried Nan. “How can I 
ever thank you both enough for it ?” 

“Never mind the thanks. And now take my ad- 
vice : go home and write your note, if a note you 
must write. Let the man send the picture directly 
from the shop, and don’t say a word to Margaret till 
it is safe in the convent.” 

Nan understood. When the picture was safely 
off, she told Margaret, for she knew Mrs. General 
11 


158 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Jones would spread the tidings of the gift, and so 
she would be sure to hear of it sooner or later. And 
then Nan had to hear some very disagreeable re- 
marks on the subject of ingratitude which rather 
spoiled the pleasure of the gift. Mrs. O’Neil had 
cast covetous eyes on the portfolio for many a day. 

But by way of compensation Nan had a note from 
the Superior. “My children and I,” wrote Mother 
Frangoise, “cannot thank you in words; but the 
loveliest flowers in our garden shall always be offered 
in your name before your gift to plead for you to 
Our Blessed Mother and her Divine Son.” 

"When next Nan visited the convent it seemed 
quite a little fe,te. The nuns gathered about her 
affqptionately, dropping even the thin veil of cere- 
mony there had been between them, yet showing 
much tact and delicacy, and not seeming to take 
anything for granted. Before she left, Mother 
Frangoise asked her if she would not come again 
the next afternoon. A Passionist Father, then hold- 
ing a mission in the town, was to give them a ser- 
mon and Benediction, and the nuns would so much 
like Nan to be present. “ But not if you have any 
objection,” added Mother Frangoise. “It would be 
to us a pleasure too dearly purchased if it gave you 
a moment’s uneasiness.” Of course Nan promised 
to come. 

And that night and next day Nan really reflected 
as well as dreamed. There were times when, young 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


159 


as she was, she felt an ardent desire to have her life 
settled. She had said so once to Miss Preston in 
Margaret’s presence. 

“ Good gracious, Nan !” said Miss Preston, “ one 
would think you were five hundred years old. How 
do you intend to settle your life ? Do you mean 
you wish to get married ?” 

“Oil no,” replied Nan, with the utmost serious- 
ness. “ There is no one to marry.” 

Both ladies laughed, and Margaret pronounced it 
“ too rich.” “ It’s a case of Awbraham,” she pro- 
fanely said, falling back upon Rorie again. “‘Be- 
hold here are the fire and the wood, but where is 
the lamb?’ We have ‘ Japhet in search of a Ba- 
ther,’ and ‘Coelebs in search of a Wife,’ and now we 
shall have ‘Nan in search of a Husband.’” 

Nan got angry. “You know it’s no such thing, 
Margaret. I have made up my mind never to 
marry.” 

“ Oh,” said Margaret, coolly, “ an old maid like 
Miss Macalaster; no — Miss Grizzell, for there will 
be no Gabriel.” And she sang in Miss Grizzell’s 
own quavers a verse from the Castle Lowrie re- 
pertoire. 

Nan had determined to say no more about having 
her life settled, but it pleased her to think there was 
another way of doing it besides getting married or 
being an old maid like Miss Grizzell. What if she 
should take this way and put an end to uncertainties? 


160 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


And then she wondered if the Superior had any 
idea of the thoughts that were passing in her mind ? 
if she ever thought of her at all, except when she 
was present ? What if Nan should detain her in the 
chapel at the close of Eenediction, and throw her- 
self at her feet, and cry, “ Thy people shall be my 
people, and thy God my God ? 55 She almost thought 
she would. 

But when the time came she did nothing of the 
kind. One of the sudden changes of feeling with 
which she was so familiar had come over her, and 
she felt no longer agitated or in haste. In the tu- 
mult of her own thoughts she had at first scarcely 
listened to the priest, but gradually the voice had 
made itself heard above the tumult, and some of the 
words had sunk into her soul. “ There is something 
higher than earthly happiness, something better than 
earthly love. O Soul, made for God, and finding 
rest in Him alone ! when hereafter thou findest 
Him thou shalt think so little of earthly happiness 
and earthly love that it shall not even come into thy 
mind to remember whether these have been thine 
or no . 55 

When the last notes of the Laudate Dominum 
died away Nan still knelt ; but it was not to utter 
a vow, but a prayer. “ O send out Thy light and 
Thy truth, that they may lead me and bring me 
unto Thy holy hill and to Thy dwelling ! 55 

She prayed with all her soul. Yet even as she 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


161 


rose she thought to herself, despairingly, “ But how 
shall I know when my petition is heard ? It is a 
prayer that all earnest souls offer ; yet some, rising 
from their knees, go to Rome, and some to Geneva, 
and some to divers places between.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


If freedom from care and gratification of one’s de- 
sires can constitute happiness, Nan’s first two years 
in America were the happiest of her life. How much 
of her ease, in more than one respect, she owed to the 
Prestons she had not the least idea. As for Mar- 
garet, as she thought she saw certain designs of her 
own in a fair way to be accomplished, she grew more 
gracious to Nan and more confidential ; and “ the 
daughters of the land ” fared but badly. Miss Pres- 
ton was indifferent to Margaret’s caricature, except 
when it was exercised on her own relatives ; but as 
half Willoughby was connected with her in some 
way, that was a rather extensive reservation. With 
Nan there need be no delicacy, and so she was placed 
in the false position of laughing with Margaret at 
Ninon’s juvenilities, and with Miss Preston at Lady 
Cockleorum’s airs and temper. 

Margaret had not been slow to discover that her 
weapon of ridicule was a most efficacious one with 
Nan herself. It was really this that had settled the 
convent business for the time being. The reader 
will have perceived that the attraction of convent- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


163 


ual life had nothing to do with religious principle. 
Conscience was not asked to interfere pro or con ; 
and, so far, the Passionist Father had struck the only 
serious chord. Nan had wished to identify herself 
with the Middle Ages, and those agreeable things she 
classed with that period, and she was sure the world 
would be well lost for love of — Mother Frangoise. 
Margaret understood perfectly how the case stood, 
and was quite unconcerned even when all Willough- 
by was talking over the expected “ perversion.” Mr. 
O’Neil had heard of it first from one of his elders, 
and coming home much shocked, had sent for Nan 
and talked to her about antichrist and the Woman 
of Babylon, and prayed with her. Miss Preston had 
taken her to see Mr. Tolivar, and the latter had made 
his appearance in what Margaret called the “flop- 
pers and after firing off a heavy broadside, without 
permitting the enemy to return the fire, had slowly 
closed one of his fishy little eyes and smacked his 
lips, as who should say, “ Let the Pope answer that if 
he can !” 

Mrs. O’Neil laughed heartily when she heard of it, 
and said it was like taking the upper and nether 
millstones to crush a gnat when you might blow it 
away with a breath. And forthwith she proceeded 
to show how it could be done. 

“What a capital view of the convent you have 
from Judge Harry’s veranda!” she remarked inci- 
dentally that evening. “I was quite interested in 


164 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


watcliing the nuns pacing up and down. Poor 
wretches ! if that is their recreation, I wonder what 
their work is.” 

“ But,” said Nan, “ I looked through the fence 
once and saw them playing with a dog.” 

“ And I suppose for a nun to play with a dog is 
as if Hugh should play poker. Well, Nan, let me 
give you one piece of advice: don’t join them till 
you have tried on the habit.” 

“My dear,” said Mr. O’Neil, gravely, “ it is not a 
subject for jest — ” 

“ It is not indeed,” interrupted Margaret. “ It 
may do very well for pretty people, and I dare say 
Nan is fancying herself another Mother Frangoise. 
Let her try it on and look in the glass! — that’s all I 
have to say.” 

It was enough. In the secrecy of her chamber at 
bedtime did Nan arrange what Whistler would call a 
nocturne in black and white . And she was forced 
to admit that, difference of age being allowed for, 
the glass reflected some one far more like Sister An- 
astasia than Mother Frangoise. The convent project 
was indefinitely postponed. 

And then Nan began to write, and decided she 
would be famous instead of holy. It would be more 
correct to say that she began to publish, for she had 
written verses for years. Rhymers have no difficulty 
in getting themselves put in print, provided they are 
not particular as to what print, and are not writing 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


165 


from mercenary motives. Nan scorned the idea of 
coining her grand thoughts into money, of turning 
her Pegasus into a plough-horse; and people who 
heard her so express herself naturally supposed her 
private revenue something handsome. She had quite 
forgotten her scheme of taking Tory to Spain. As 
a poetess, Nan cultivated an abstracted, melancholy 
air ; and when Mrs. Benjamin said to her one day, 
“I think your face, when in repose, is so sad,” she 
felt a thrill of pleasure, and reminded her sympa- 
thizer that those who had her fatal gift “learn in 
suffering what they teach in song.” 

Had Nan never improvised a habit and looked 
in the glass, she might have been a nun ; had she 
persevered in her attentions to the muse, she might 
have been heard of as a poetess. Not much good, 
however, comes of philosophizing over what might 
have been. With a thousand other gifts, Nan had not 
the invaluable one of perseverance; so that when 
some one happened to express surprise at her not 
taking to novel-writing, she at once determined to 
be a Charlotte Bronte. She wrote a story, sent it to 
a magazine, and had it accepted on the same liberal 
terms as the poetry. Does the unsophisticated read- 
er wonder at such terms? But there are “authors’ 
agents” in London whose business it is to get arti- 
cles inserted in magazines, and they charge a stated 
sum for presenting an article, and a guinea for 
the luxury of letting you read your production in 


166 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


print, when you could read it in manuscript forever 
for nothing. 

Nan’s first story was very like a girl’s first story. 
Margaret said it was very like a whale. It had this 
variety: that whereas love-stories in general end 
with matrimony, Nan permitted a year or so of mar- 
ried life, and then killed off baby, wife, and maniac 
husband. It was not so like Charlotte Bronte as she 
had intended, but it was full of pretty descriptions. 

After all, Nan wondered if her real genius was not 
as an essayist. She thought she might do for the 
South what Washington Irving had done for the 
North, or she might be another Elia , or perhaps her 
style was just a little graver — more like Addison’s; 
she was quite sure she could do the pure and beau- 
tiful English. Her essay, when written, went to 
a Southern publication, and the editor wrote and 
courteously asked for the photograph of his gifted 
contributor. But Nan’s look in the glass had done 
her good service. She reminded the editor of what 
Mirabeau said to the admirer who wrote for a de- 
scription of him : “ Fancy his Satanic Majesty after 
he has had the small-pox.” And she begged leave 
to paraphrase it : “ Fancy his Satanic Majesty’s wife 
without the small-pox, but with a cold in her head.” 

And then Margaret sent Nan sailing off on another 
tack. 

Ever since the meeting at Aunt Chloe’s cabin 
Dr. Preston and Nan had been the best of friends. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


167 


Among those who envied for themselves or for their 
daughters the golden opportunities possessed by one 
actually living in the house with such a prize, it was 
confidently asserted that Mrs. O’Neil had brought 
her cousin out for the express purpose of being Mrs. 
Preston. While Nan had only her appearance to go 
upon, her chance was considered below par. She 
might be clever, people said, but men liked beauty, 
not brains ; in fact, rather preferred a fool. But 
when Nan’s cleverness bore fruit in “ poems ” and 
“ pieces,” her prospects, rather inconsistently, were re- 
garded as at a premium. “ Things seen are mightier 
than things heard and literary performances have 
their effect on dwellers in an out-of-the-way town. 

As to the truth of the charge against Mrs. O’Neil, 
a glance at the letter she had just finished to Sophy 
Campbell may help us to decide. Margaret’s letters 
to Sophy were by no means so frequent, so long, 
or so confidential as in the days of her engagement 
she had vowed they should be. She pronounced her 
quondam bosom friend a good little thing, but old- 
fashioned and gauche . About Nan, however, she 
wrote to her freely, much more freely than to the 
Manse ; for Sophie was pledged to secrecy, and one 
of her old-fashioned ways was a habit of keeping her 
word. 

“ It is too rich,” wrote Margaret, “ to see Dr. Pres- 
ton and Nan. You know what my plans were in 
sending for her; and Lawrence has fallen in with 


168 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


them as meekly as possible. Of course I don’t be- 
lieve lie would look at her except for his disappoint- 
ment — you remember I told you about his fiancee, 
a fiery South Carolinian, throwing him over on ac- 
count of his Yankee politics, which he, the goose ! 
thought it ‘only honorable’ to tell her. Well, the 
haughty fair married out of pique the first fire-eater 
that asked her — a rebel general, whom she prized all 
the more that his patriotism had left him without the 
full complement of arms, or legs, or something. The 
last I heard of them they were in Baltimore, he re- 
posing on his laurels, and she giving singing lessons 
(she has a magnificent voice) to pay the taxes on 
their estate and to provide her hero with the brandy 
which he loves even better than he does her. And 
now Lawrence’s heart is being caught in the rebound ; 
or perhaps it is only that, his own happiness being 
out of the question, he is philanthropic enough to 
plan the rescue of Nan from my guardianship. I 
don’t think Ninon sees it at all, and you may depend 
upon it I shall not enlighten her. As for the little 
fool herself, unless some one gives her a hint she 
will know nothing about it till he lays Preston Place 
and his stock of Yankee notions at her feet, and then 
she will be so frightened she will say, ‘No, thank 
you, sir,’ and begin to howl. Of course I shall give 
her the hint.” 

Another extract from the same letter I may give, 
though it has nothing to do with Nan. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


169 


“ Hugh groans in spirit at the worldliness of every- 
body and everything here, and considers all vanity 
and vexation, the “human hymns” in particular. I 
must tell you a ridiculous adventure he had lately — 
it is really too good to keep. He had to go by the 
stage to the Synod at Wayleigh, thirty miles from 
here, and began the journey with two perfect speci- 
mens of the ancient Briton, feminine gender, who have 
come to visit a brother in this part of the world. 
Imagine Hugh doing the agreeable, and the ancients 
unbending and summing him up mentally as ‘ A most 
excellent young man !’ when enter from a way-side 
inn a veritable Dick Swiveller — only far more dis- 
reputable than the original — who slaps Hugh’s shoul- 
der familiarly and addresses him as Bob. The an- 
cient Britons at first share Hugh’s indignation, but 
as Mr. Swiveller taxes him with being ashamed of 
him and pretending not to know him, and recounts 
one rollicking adventure after another in which they 
have been boon companions, they are first uncertain, 
then too certain that the worst is true ; and shrink- 
ing into the farthest corner of the stage, they draw 
their shapeless tweed garments closely about them, 
and sniff the air with their Homan noses. Poor 
Hugh !” 

Margaret began to pave the way for the hint, but 
so carefully that Nan at first did not understand it. 
Mrs. O’Neil had always been more frank than kind 
in her criticisms on her cousin’s appearance, and Nan 


170 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


had from time to time shed a good many tears, and 
at last had grown nervously sensitive whenever the 
subject of beauty or ugliness was mentioned. Once 
she asked Miss Preston if she was really so hideous 
as Margaret said. “ You are not hideous at all , 55 said 
Miss Preston. “ You are certainly not a beauty, but 
you have a nice bright face, full of intelligence. It 
is a thousand times nicer than Margaret’s . 55 

Nan was cheered. “ Even with the Cockleorum 
neck attached ?” she asked. 

“I could wring the Cockleorum neck ! 55 cried her 
friend, wrathfully. 

But during Nan’s second year in Willoughby Mar- 
garet would occasionally compliment her. “ Why, 
child, you have just narrowly escaped looking pret- 
ty this evening . 55 “When you wish to captivate, al- 
ways wear a thin white muslin,” etc. Such remarks 
from Margaret were more to Nan than a thousand 
more gushing compliments from others. She had 
an uneasy consciousness that if anything bad could 
be said of her, Margaret would say it, so that even 
her most carelessly said good things were comfort- 
ing; and the painful belief in her special ugliness, 
with its attendant self-consciousness, once removed, 
Nan’s personal appearance improved daily. Happi- 
ness is a great beautifier. 

Then, as Nan’s nineteenth birthday approached, 
Margaret’s hints grew more specific. Nan was say- 
ing how old she felt ? **You may say how old you 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


171 


are” said Margaret. “ For remember America is 
not like Strathlowrie, where an Evangeline of eighty 
still expects the return of her Gabriel, and where 
a woman is in her prime at forty. In Willoughby 
you are passee at twenty-three, a hopeless old maid 
at twenty-five, and at thirty old enough to kill ! 

“ However , 55 Margaret resumed after a moment, 
“I don’t think we are to have an old maid in the 
family, and I think you may consider yourself a pre- 
cious lucky girl.” 

Nan was not quite so innocent as Margaret sup- 
posed. Her young friends were always coupling her 
with Dr. Preston, and even Mother Frangoise had 
heard something, and had told Nan she must bring 
her friend up to see her. The nuns always knew 
everything that was going on in Willoughby. 

But when Margaret mentioned the subject it as- 
sumed an air of reality such as before Nan had not 
dared or cared to invest it with. Perhaps Dr. Pres- 
ton had already spoken to Mrs. O’Neil. That was 
not the American way of doing things ; but every- 
body said Lawrence was more like an Englishman 
than an American, and then he might think that 
Scotch people would expect Scotch formalities. Per- 
haps he had even written to her uncle. What would 
Tory say ? 

Nan, as we have seen, was in the habit of settling 
the most important questions of her life in five or 
ten minutes. Thus she had settled the coming to 


172 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


America, and the being or not being a nun, to say 
nothing of the various literary schemes. The mere 
fact of anything connected with her being unsettled 
was unbearable. Unfortunately, the settlements did 
not last. What appeared to her the most desirable 
of schemes to-day would probably seem quite the re- 
verse to-morrow. But then the state of uncertainty 
reintroduced by this change of feeling would be 
nipped in the bud by another decision. So, had Nan 
only known it, many a life is thrown away, having 
nothing to show at the end but a multitude of de- 
cisions, any one of which, had it only been adhered 
to, might have been the life’s salvation. 

With her usual promptness, Nan proceeded to set- 
tle one point more — to answer, in short, the question 
which Dr. Preston had not yet asked ; and the con- 
siderations that occurred to her were these : 

Dr. Preston was the most eligible parti she had 
ever seen, and Margaret had truly said there was no 
one in Willoughby who would not jump at him — 
politics and all. 

Dr. Preston was, after the strictest sect, an F.F.Y., 
and she thought an F.F.V. far better than Mrs. Colo- 
nel Fitzhugh’s counts, and quite as good as her Eng- 
lish dukes. 

The glories of Preston Place would be rehearsed 
in Strathlowrie by all sorts and conditions — from 
Miss Macalaster at her lute to Kirsty Poison’s moth- 
er at her mangle. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 173 

She, Nan, would send for Tory and marry her off. 
No, she would bring her, not send for her — for of 
course they would go to Strathlowrie on the wedding 
tour. What loads of things she would take to her 
uncle ! Of course she would have a maid with her — 
some one like Phyllis — no, a jet black one ; and then 
people would see for themselves that the half had 
not been told. 

If Dr. Preston should die, a widow was a much 
more interesting creature than an old maid. Then, 
if she should be very rich she would probably build 
a chapel or endow a convent ; and then, perhaps, she 
would even begin a new Order, and be Lady Abbess. 
The recollection of the nocturne was fading. 

And so Nan made one decision more, and made it 
without reference to such a bagatelle as Dr. Preston’s 
feeling for her, or hers for Dr. Preston. 

Does the reader pronounce her a selfish little 
wretch ? But she was not. She was simply an igno- 
rant one, who had not yet discovered what love is. 
As for embracing widowhood in her speculations, she 
would have embraced the suttee with equal large- 
mindedness, had the suttee been fashionable in Vir- 
ginia. In reality, had Lawrence Preston died on the 
very day of her theories, she would have half broken 
her heart for her friend, though she did not care for 
him as a lover. Nan’s theories and practice were far 
apart. 


12 


174 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


And, after all, she may never have a chance of car- 
rying out her decision, even should she keep to it, 
which is more than unlikely. She had not once 
thought of the excellent advice, “ First catch your 
hare .’ 5 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Nan’s birthday fell on that most beautiful and 
dear feast when we commemorate the faithful de- 
parted. And her nineteenth birthday was perhaps 
the loveliest and happiest day of her life. 

To begin with, Nature did her best. The land lay 
half shrouded, half glorified by the golden mist of 
Indian summer — that enchanting season which Aca- 
dians call the Summer of all Saints. The air was 
balmy as that of a day in June, but there was no 
June oppression or glare. The lawn was still soft 
and velvety. Foliage was as luxuriant as ever, only 
the green had been touched by some wizard hand 
into every shade of yellow, orange, and crimson. 
And over everything was that indescribable hush 
which precedes the destroyer. It was the summer 
with a graver grace; the summer’s music written in 
a minor key. And this touch of sadness in outer 
nature found something in Nan corresponding to it. 
Nothing to her was perfect unless there was in it a 
touch of the pathetic, which is almost the same as 
saying, unless there was in it a touch of the imper- 
fect. This birthday she thought a day of days. 


176 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Everybody was kind — even Margaret kissed her 
with something like affection — and she had beautiful 
presents, which she liked all the better because they 
took for granted her literary tastes. I am not quite 
sure that she would have liked the imperfect touch 
in the gifts, only that it had also that touch of the 
ludicrous which the giver never failed to supply. 
Mrs. Benjamin had sent a copy of Martin Tapper! 

Miss Preston thought Nan should go to St. Mark’s 
with her, but Nan begged off. She did not wish to 
spoil the day by the sight of Mr. Tolivar, whom she 
disliked more than ever since he had winked at her 
and smacked his lips. Miss Preston herself had 
been disgusted, though she quite agreed with Mr. 
Tolivar’s views. 

Nan dreamed the morning away on the piazza, 
and after early dinner she eluded everybody and 
went off to Mother Frangoise. The Superior knew 
just as well as though she had been Nan’s confessor 
the changes her mind had undergone ; but if she 
felt any disappointment she never betrayed it. Nan 
was now playing the role of a frivolous person who 
had allowed the world, the flesh, and the devil to 
get the better of her, but who was not yet beyond 
hope. Nay, did not the far-off look they were al- 
ways telling her about indicate as much ? The far- 
off look was Nan’s strong point; it had already done 
duty as the foreshadowing of the cloister, the ab- 
straction of genius, the infinite sadness of the fatally 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 177 

gifted ; and now it was the yearning of the soul that, 
having once had divine aspirations, is vainly trying 
to satisfy itself with meaner things. 

So Nan went to Mother Frangoise and knelt with 
her in the little chapel, and walked with her in the 
garden. She loved Mother Frangoise more than a 
thousand Dr. Prestons ; but then how could she go 
against her destiny — as she had at present deter- 
mined it? 

As the convent door closed upon her she beheld 
Dr. Preston in his phaeton at the door. “ I thought 
you were never coming,” said he, as he sprang to 
the ground. 

“You did not ring, did you ?” asked Nan, in dismay. 

“Twice,” said the doctor, cheerily ; “once to ask 
if you were there, and again to ask if they were sure 
you had not gone. I was just going to make a third 
attack when I saw you coming.” 

Nan wondered if Mother Frangoise would hear 
of it. 

“But where are you going?” she asked, when 
they passed Preston Place and neared the wharf 
where Sam, the doctor’s man, stood grinning. 

“ I told Mrs. O’Neil I was going to take you for 
a drive, but I believe I meant a row — unless you 
prefer driving.” 

“ Oh no !” exclaimed Nan, delighted, “ it will be 
delicious on the river ; but I wish I had brought my 
parasol.” 


178 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“You will not need it;” and Lawrence pointed 
to a tiny boat with a gay awning over the stern. 

Nan was in raptures. “ But why did you not tell 
the others ? They might have come too.” 

“ They would have come, and then we should all 
have been drowned. This boat only holds two.” 

“ But they will be so disappointed.” 

“ They will never know. I will swear you to se- 
crecy before I land you.” 

They let the boat glide with the stream — the high, 
dark cliffs of the Virginia side almost overhanging 
them ; the low, green shores of Ohio, fringed with 
dwarf willows, looking far off in the hazy atmosphere. 
There is in the beautiful river an island, not unknown 
to story, where an exile from a far land once found a 
refuge, and amid the seclusion of what was then an 
almost unbroken wilderness created a paradise where 
with those he loved he lived in perfect happiness, 
“ the world forgetting, by the world forgot.” And 
there the Serpent, in the form of a brilliant but un- 
scrupulous politician, entered, and rousing for his 
own selfish purposes the demon of ambition in the 
exile’s bosom, gained him to his guilty schemes and 
involved him in his ruin. On that island landed Dr. 
Preston and Nan, and were glad to find it free from 
the picnic parties that much affect it. Scarcely a 
stone of the old mansion stands. You can but say 
to yourself, “Here was the front door; here was the 
library where they sat and plotted; here is where 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


179 


the arms were stored.” Bat the old well remains, 
and beside it, after their explorations, Nan and Law- 
rence sat down. 

“ This,” said the doctor, “ is where tradition says 
they used to sit in the long summer afternoons. 
From here you get all the good points of the land- 
scape, and at the same time command the approach 
to the landing. 

Nan rose and looked into the well. “ What if old 
wells and mirrors could show all the faces that have 
looked into them ! I used to be afraid of some of 
the glasses at Castle Lowrie, when Tory and I played 
in the unoccupied rooms. And they have one at 
the Benjamins’ I have the same feeling about. Mr. 
Benjamin’s mother was a Ten Eyck — and they 
brought it over from Holland in the Dutch days of 
New York, and it was old then. I am really afraid 
to look into it.” 

“I should think you would be,” laughed Law- 
rence, “ if the Benjamin mater is anywhere about. 
The mirror is her Sacred Cow, or White Elephant. 
Margaret says she has a separate story for every 
spot on its surface, and a three-volume novel for the 
crack in the upper left-hand corner.” 

“ How lovely everything is !” exclaimed Nan, after a 
pause, “and yet so utterly unlike my dear Scotland.” 

“And I suppose nothing can be perfect that is 
not exactly like your dear Scotland,” said Lawrence, 
looking at her kindly. 


180 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

“ I doii*t know. It would be almost impossible to 
find fault with to-day. But generally everything is 
too bright. I thought at first I liked the cloudless 
blue sky, but I begin to long for the great masses of 
snow and silver which are sure to be somewhere in 
our brightest sky, and even for the storm-clouds. 
Our mountains are never two minutes the same.” 

“Ah! you like change, then. You are a true 
woman.” 

“ I like change in nature. Many, many an hour 
I have spent lying in the long grass of the outer 
garden, and making fairy-tales out of the changing 
clouds. I wonder if this cloudless sky is not the 
reason that Americans are so matter-of-fact ?” 

“ But are we?” 

“ Oh, not you so much as just the American na- 
tion in general, and Yankees in particular.” 

“But I thought,” said Lawrence, laughing, “my 
unpardonable sin was in being a Yankee.” 

“You know very well what I mean — Yankees by 
birth. A mathematical nation is a matter-of-fact 
nation, and I am sure even in Willoughby quite little 
girls do algebra before they know a word of history.” 

“ And are the Scotch not mathematical ?” 

“No, they are metaphysical. You should hear 
Kirsty Poison’s father, who is only a poor old cob- 
bler, discussing metaphysical points. My uncle used 
to say John could confute all the skeptical argu- 
ments about Personal Identity and Necessity as well 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


181 


as Bishop Butler himself, and yet he certainly had 
never heard of the ‘Analogy .’ 55 

“But it seems to me John is not the only lusus 
natural* Do you mean to say you have read the 
‘ Analogy V ” 

“I have learned it,” said Nan. “I liked it so 
much that my uncle went over it with me, and then 
he let me help a student whom he was getting 
through college — just a poor lad, who used to go for 
our milk.” 

“Good gracious!” exclaimed -Lawrence, “I am 
quite bewildered and alarmed. I did not know 
young ladies learned such things.” 

“ They don’t generally in Scotland, but they do 
here. So, you see, you know very little about your 
own land. I was at an examination at Miss Carring- 
ton’s last June, and the graduates had Butler. They 
say they have it in almost all the schools.” 

“ Well, you see, I have been so long abroad I have 
forgotten how learned we are at home. May I ask 
if Miss Carrington’s pupils did her credit?” 

“Yes, in other things. They did not do Butler 
credit, for they gave him in the words of the book.” 

“And do you think girls could give any other 
words to such a subject ?” 

“ Certainly ; but you are laughing at them or at 
me. Mrs. Benjamin does not approve of the study ; 
she says it will put infidel notions into the girls’ 
heads.” 


182 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“ Whereas you feel armed by it against infidel no- 
tions.” 

“ I feel nothing of the sort. I never needed such 
arms. I don’t undervalue the arguments, but I be- 
lieve without them. I like Butler purely as meta- 
physics.” 

“ Well, my German friends would think their sis- 
ters better occupied in knitting their stockings.” 

“Or 6 cutting bread-and-butter,’ like Werter’s 
Charlotte. I hate Germans ; they are so fond of eat- 
ing — and drinking — ” 

“ And metaphysics.” 

“ Ye — es. Well, I hate Germans, at any rate, and 
I never would learn their language.” 

“ Then you don’t know what you miss, for English 
translations are often worse than the ‘Analogy’ of 
the Carringtonites. I dare say you judge of Ger- 
man from the guttural of old Schwartz at the ice- 
cream saloon.” 

“ Do you suppose I go so often to the ice-cream 
saloon ?” 

“ To my certain knowledge you were there thrice 
in one evening lately with three separate cava- 
liers.” 

Nan blushed. “Well, you were the third; and it 
was very shabby of you to ask me, if you knew I had 
been twice before, and were going to cast it up. I 
only went because I did not like to hurt your feel- 
ings by refusing.” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 183 

“ That was kind ! And will you always be as con- 
siderate when I ask a favor ?” 

Nan blushed again. “ Certainly, when it is a ques- 
tion of ice-cream.” 

“ But suppose it should be a question of something 
else?” 

“ Cela depend” Nan rose and looked again into 
the well. 

Lawrence rose also and stood beside her. 

“ Behold truth at the bottom of a well !” said Nan, 
pointing to her own face reflected there. 

Lawrence looked down into the still water, which 
forthwith mirrored two faces side by side. 

“You said a few minutes ago, i What if old wells 
had the power of showing you all the faces that have 
looked into them !’ If this one had, it would show 
you Lawrence Preston in at least one other dissolv- 
ing view, with another face than yours beside mine. 
Dear Nan, may I tell you the story of that other 
face ?” 

“Yes,” said Nan. 


CHAPTER XX. 


“But wait,” said Lawrence, opening a basket 
which he had taken from the locker of the boat, and 
displaying great bunches of luscious grapes of half a 
dozen varieties. “ Listening is dull work, and if I 
see you amusing yourself with these, I shall have less 
scruple in spinning a long yarn.” 

So Nan sat on the bench and ate grapes, and 
Lawrence stood leaning against the moss-grown 
well. 

“Did the fairy-tales you found in the clouds,” 
said Lawrence, looking down into Nan’s eager face, 
“ begin with ‘ Once upon a time?’ The story I find 
in the well begins that way, and the time seems long, 
long ago. In reality it is not quite ten years. But 
you know what the last ten years have been to the 
South — or rather you cannot know; even people 
born , and brought up in Willoughby do not know. 
Border towns like this had few slaves, and were con- 
stantly receiving importations from the North; so 
that, much as Mrs. Benjamin and others would scorn 
the idea of such a thing, Willoughby was, even be- 
fore the war, as much Northern as Southern. It was, 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


185 


indeed, a sort of hybrid that both sides disowned. 
Old eastern families like our own and the Fitz- 
hughs laughed at the pretensions of those whom 
they regarded as little better than their negroes, 
while immigrants from the North scouted the slow- 
ness of the place and the laziness and absurd notions 
of the people. 

“ Mrs. Benjamin, now, is a case in point. Her 
husband is well-born, though half Northern ; and he 
is a plain, unassuming man, who but for his excel- 
lent temper must have separated from his wife long 
ago. I am sure I would have taken her life,’ 3 

Cries of “ Shame !” from the audience. 

“Ah,” said Lawrence, “you feel bound to take 
her part out of gratitude for the Tapper. Mrs. 
Benjamin has doubtless talked to you of her father’s 
plantation and her father’s slaves. The plantation 
was a wretched little farm in the most dreary and 
God-forsaken spot of this State, and the slaves were 
an old man and his wife, who between them did the 
entire work of the place. Mrs. Benjamin (she was 
then Arabella Collins) had always a taste for high 
life, and by pushing herself here, there, and every- 
where, managed to get a footing in what Willoughby 
calls society — Heaven save the mark ! She used to 
be known as Rouge-dragon, from the color of her 
best gown and her relentless pursuit of victims. 
Poor Benjamin became her unwilling prey.” 

Nan could not help laughing, but she was greatly 


186 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


astonished. “You are surely mistaken,” she said; 
“ her little boy, Collins — •” 

“ Is named after ‘ Old Man Collins,’ who used to 
foretell the kind of weather from a dried goose-bone. 
That is Willoughby society. Well, I was going to 
say that if you wanted the faintest idea of what Vir- 
ginia used to be, you would have to go farther south 
and farther east. General Fitzhugh showed me the 
other day his grandfather’s will. That gives you an 
idea of the landed aristocracy of slave-times. He de- 
vises his plantation of six thousand acres, with slaves 
attached, his plantation of eighteen hundred acres 
and slaves, his plantation of twelve hundred acres 
and slaves, with other farms and outlying property. 
He mentions all the cattle, sheep, and hogs, his rac- 
ing studs, his various coaches, each drawn by six 
horses, and so on through all the details of a vast 
domain.* 

“ But Virginia living was old-fashioned and frugal 
compared with that farther south. In South Car- 
olina especially, common every-day life might pass as 
a series of pictures from the “Arabian Nights.” Hos- 
pitality was literally without bounds. The crowds 
of guests constantly entertained were only outnum- 
bered by the crowds of servants who waited upon 
them; the courtly company dined off gold and silver 
plate ; everything was conducted on a scale of princely 


* Princeton Review , 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


187 


magnificence that was almost barbaric in its profu- 
sion. The boys were educated in England, the girls 
were brought up at home like helpless princesses, 
with half a dozen servants for every want or whim. 
Men and women were alike elegant and accomplished ; 
but the men drank and gambled, and settled their 
slightest quarrel by the sword.* This excess of lux- 
ury was mainly past before my day, but I can re- 
member one such home . 55 

Lawrence paused and looked out on the hazy 
river ; then turning suddenly, he asked, “ Did Mar- 
garet ever tell you of Irene ?” 

“ Never , 55 said Nan. The grapes were neglected, 
and she was listening with ears and eyes and heart. 

“ Then for that I thank her. It is of Irene the 
old well could tell you; and had it the gift you fear- 
ed, it is Irene’s face it would reflect . 55 

Lawrence drew from his pocket a velvet case, 
opened it and handed it to Nan. 

“ Oh ! 55 said Nan, softly, and said no more. What 
words would not be poor for such a face? But it 
flashed upon her with strange recognition, though 
she had never before heard the name of Irene. It 
was the king’s daughter her imagination had painted, 
before death had stepped in to make her uncle’s im- 
agery plain. To Nan the coincidence was beautiful, 
not startling. She had more than once met people 


* Princeton Review . 


188 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


whom she had dreamed about — waking or sleeping. 
She kissed the lovely face, then crimsoned, remem- 
bering that one who had so often done the same was 
looking on, and perhaps counting her kisses sacri- 
lege. Dark and bright, proud and soft, fierce and 
tender — what charming contradictions looked out 
from the exquisite face ! “ It is perfect,” said Nan 

at last. 

“No,” said Lawrence, half sighing, half smiling; 
“it is less than perfect, because it is not the face it- 
self.” Then, with a dreary laugh, “ This is the well’s 
story of ten years ago, you know ; the echo of what 
I said then, not of what I say to-day. I have never 
told the story to human being before, and I must 
not grow sentimental over it. 

“Well,” he went on, “I saw Irene first in such a 
scene of enchantment as I have been describing to 
you. I do not wish to enhance my own triumph 
when I say she had the whole South at her feet; and 
why she should have passed by so many worthier of 
her, and chosen a foolish boy, God knows ! 

“ Between my visits to Beauvoir and Irene’s to Wil- 
loughby a year passed like a dream. My father had 
set his heart on my studying abroad, and insisted on 
my carrying out the plans that had been made be- 
fore I met her. So to Germany I went, taking with 
me the comfort that though Senator Hamilton might 
possibly not lament if absence inclined his daugh- 
ter’s heart to a more distinguished suitor, Irene her- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


189 


self would die a thousand deaths rather than break 
her plighted word. 

“ The Harniltons came to France while I was there, 
and Irene was the rage in Paris as she had been in 
Charleston. But courted and admired as she was, 
she never gave me one jealous pang. Few who have 
loved one so beautiful can say as much. 

“ In six weeks more we were to have been married, 
when the Harniltons were called home by the death 
of the only son and brother. I went with them ; 
I felt as though I could not let Irene out of my 
sight again, and the circumstances of Harry’s death 
called for all the comfort friends could give. He 
had been stabbed in a gambling saloon in some 
drunken quarrel. 

“ Those were the stormy days before the war, 
when feeling ran almost higher than when words 
came at last to blows. The outbreak seemed to re- 
lieve the tension. 

“ The South Carolinians were, as you know, the 
extreme party in the South ; Senator Hamilton was 
the extreme man of the South Carolinians. His 
health had failed since the death of his son, but noth- 
ing could keep him from his place in the Senate, 
where his bitter but eloquent invective was the sen- 
sation. I do not know whether the energy of his hate 
hastened his death or retarded it. Some said it took 
away the little strength he had ; others declared it 
kept him up after all other strength was gone. At 
13 


190 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


any rate his death, when it did occur, was quite unex- 
pected to her whom it most concerned — his daughter. 

“I was at Beauvoir at the time, and Irene insisted 
on going to the coast to meet her father . It was use- 
less to try to argue with her. 4 1 have always gone 
before, 5 she said, 4 and do you think I would omit 
any token of love or respect because it is the last 
time V 4 Not know it ! 5 she said, turning on her aunt, 
who had tried to dissuade her. 4 Oh, what a mean 
and cowardly reason ! I would know it, and it w r ould 
break my heart ! 5 

44 1 had to take them ; and I shall never forget the 
strange, weird scene : the dark night brightened by 
the glare of hundreds of torches — for many and 
many a one besides Irene had come to honor her fa- 
ther; the ship at anchor; the lowered burden; the 
muffled dip of the oars ; the silent crowd, standing 
back with true Southern delicacy to let the daughter 
receive her dead; the eyes shining like stars in the 
beautiful, pale, proud face that bent and kissed the 
coffin as she laid on it the wreath from Beauvoir. 
Then in an instant, as Irene stepped back, the coffin 
was hidden under palms and lilies and roses, and 
many a rare blossom, and we were borne along over 
a way literally strewn with flowers, while a military 
band wailed out its heart-breaking music. 

44 Time passed on, and the war broke out. All Ire- 
ne’s cousins and friends were fighting, and a shadow 
began to creep over her face — not for fear lest I, too, 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 191 

should go, but for wonder that I had not gone already. 
If love makes heroes, it also makes cowards. How 
could I tell her that I had discarded the traditions 
we had both inherited ; and that though I could not 
fight against my own kindred, I would never fight 
for the cause of the South ? Perhaps if I had re- 
mained in Virginia I should have gone with my 
State. It was mainly what I had seen in South Caro- 
lina that decided me. 

“ People said I was a fool for telling Irene ; that I 
should have married her and taken her abroad. The 
truth is, I was a coward not to tell her sooner. Well, 
it was out at last. There was no scene — at least there 
were no angry words. At first I really believe she 
thought I had gone mad, or was possessed by a devil. 
It was so incredible to her that a Southern gentle- 
man should, as she thought, descend from his high 
estate and make of himself a pariah. All that love 
could do to break the spell Irene did. When she 
at last understood that a principle was as dear to 
me as to her — ” Lawrence broke off with a short, 
bitter laugh. 

“The scorn of the woman I loved was hard to 
bear — the harder that my blood is naturally as fiery 
as her own. I left Beauvoir at once at her request. 
I left the State too, though not till, after numerous 
efforts, I saw her once more. She looked me full in 
the face, and without a sign passed on. In a fort- 
night she was engaged to a Southern officer ; and I 


192 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

really believe she took the worst she could find just 
to show how poor a creature she could still think 
worthier of her hand than Lawrence Preston. 

“I went abroad again, and, as you know, had been 
home less than a year when you came to us. Till a 
few months ago I thought my heart was dead, as 
wiser men than I have thought in the same circum- 
stances. It is you who have made me doubt it. 
What a commonplace set we were before you came — 
Hugh with his scrupulosities, and Margaret with her 
sneers and worldliness, and Carrie with her pomps 
and vanities, and I with my doubts of everybody and 
everything. And then you came in upon us, like a 
breeze from your own hills, freshening the hum- 
drum atmosphere and stirring us up — hearts and all. 
I could never feel again what I did long ago — not 
for an angel from heaven even — not for Irene herself, 
could she come back. But ” — and Lawrence seated 
himself at Nan’s side — “ I am sure I could love you 
very dearly, and I think I could make you happy. 
Dear Nan, will you let me try ?” 

Now, before I tell you Nan’s answer, I must tell 
you what had been her train of thought. All that 
had been said to her, and especially what had been 
said by Mrs. O’Neil, had led her to expect a pro- 
posal some time; and when she found herself in 
the boat that afternoon, she thought the interest- 
ing and critical moment might be not far off ; but 
when Lawrence began his story she really forgot all 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


198 


about herself. Her heart was interested, but only 
sympathetically, and her imagination was still more 
interested. She began thinking how handsome Dr. 
Preston was, and what a pretty picture the scene 
would make — the moss-grown well with its long 
sweep, and Lawrence leaning against it; a female 
figure seated on a bench, taking from the open bas- 
ket a bunch of grapes ; on one side the great maples, 
with their brilliant coloring and their long shadows, 
on the other the river, with the line of light showing 
where the water ended and the opposite shore began ; 
the golden haze — though who could paint that? 
The picture supplied a face for what she had vaguely 
thought of as a “ female figure.” Then she fell deep- 
ly in love with Irene; planned another picture on 
the senator’s home-coming; changed it into a poem ; 
lastly, sketched the plan of a most moving novel, and 
getting far ahead of Lawrence, though all the while 
she was listening to him most intently, had just 
brought about a highly dramatic situation, when 
Lawrence’s closing words upset it all: “I am sure I 
could love you very dearly, and I think I could make 
you happy. Dear Nan, will you let me try ?” 

“Ok no!” cried Nan, eagerly, “you must wait. 
The General will die ; grief will soften Irene’s heart, 
and she will marry you after all.” 

Now, as all the world knows, any lady may decline 
any lover, even if the lady be a Beggar-maid and the 
lover King Cophetua. But when the lady not only 


194 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


declines him, but seems quite unconscious of the hon- 
or done her, and only anxious to dispose of him oth- 
erwise, it is not in human nature not to resent it. 
Lawrence got angry. 

“I suppose women are all alike, 5 ’ he said, with a 
very red face. 

“But,” said Nan, still without embarrassment, “it 
is for your own good. Oh, how could you love any 
one else after having loved Irene ?” 

Nan liked to say the name. She had never en- 
countered an Irene in real life, and she thought it a 
perfect name, linked to a perfect face. 

“ And after having been so courteously and lov- 
ingly treated by her.” 

“ But that was natural. Don’t you see she thought 
her father was a martyr for the South, and how could 
she turn against him?” 

“Probably the Yankee is as unwelcome to you as 
to her.” 

“ Please don’t be angry,” pleaded Nan. “ I do like 
Southerners best ; but you are a Southerner.” 

“But you like fire-eaters best — like Mrs. Benja- 
min, for instance.” 

Nan laughed, though Lawrence was still angry. 
“No; it is Mrs. Benjamin’s literary powers I admire 
most. I like a fire-eater like — Irene.” 

“And not long ago you thought a negro as good 
as a white man, and were prepared to lift up your 
voice against flogging.” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD'S DAUGHTER. 


195 


“Well, I am afraid the mind as well as the sky 
has changed in my case, though I would still testify 
against the floggings, if there were any. But what 
can I know of the feelings of a born Southerner? 
And yet I should have fought for the South with all 
my heart.” 

Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. “Who can find 
a logical woman ?” 

“ Who can find a just man ? Oh, I wish you would 
not be so angry at Irene !” 

Lawrence laughed in spite of himself. “ What 
can Irene matter to me, or I to her, seeing she is 
Mrs. General le Moine?” 

“ Mrs. General le Moine ! That sounds better than 
Mrs. General Jones. But you care for her yet.” 

“Good heavens, Nan ! what strange things you say ! 
Men of honor don’t care for other men’s wives!” 

“If you were not so cross you would understand. 
You care for the ideal of ten years ago — ” 

“ Which was very different from the real Mrs. le 
Moine.” 

“ But not different from the real Irene. You 
must wait.” 

“And do you suppose, then, that men of honor 
count upon the death of other men ?” 

“N — o,”said Nan, beginning to feel rather foolish. 
“I did not mean that. I was only thinking of how 
it might end in a book.” 

“Just one of your romances,” Lawrence said, kind- 


196 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAtJGHTLlL 

ly. “ My dear Nan, the wise man in such circum- 
stances does not cherish the lost ideal. He substi- 
tutes another.” 

“ But that seems so sad.” 

“ What — that I am asking you to marry me ?” 

“ N — o, not exactly.” 

“ Then will you answer my question ?” 

“ Dear me !” said Nan,“ I don’t know what to say.” 

“ Then say yes.” 

“It does not seem right in the circumstances, yet 
I don’t want to make you angry again. Would you 
mind leaving the subject — in statu quo f” 

Then Lawrence was conquered. He laughed till 
the ghosts of the hapless exile and of his evil genius, 
had they been revisiting their haunts, must have ap- 
peared and asked the meaning of it. 

“My dear little Nan,” he said at last, “you are 
such a delightful blending of the quaint and the ro- 
mantic — your Presbyterian uncle and your Spanish 
mother — that you would make a very sweet ideal 
yourself. Of course I 4 mind,’ but to oblige you I 
will leave the subject — in statu quo” 

“Thank you so much!” said Nan, presently, only 
too happy to have it settled. 

“ And I think we will agree not to mention it to 
Lady Cockleorum meantime.” 

“ Of course not.” 

And this was a wise precaution on the part of Dr. 
Lawrence Preston. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


When the pair Reached home, tea had long been 
over; yet Mrs. O’Neil, generally very particular as 
to Nan’s punctuality, looked well pleased. She was 
seated on the piazza with Mrs. General Jones, who 
had been giving her an account of the tribulation of 
her early married life, as occasioned by her father-in- 
law, whom she always spoke of as Paw Jones. 

Margaret, anxious probably to form her own con- 
clusions as to what had occurred during the after- 
noon, went to the dining-room as soon as possible, 
and made herself very gracious. She was puzzled. 
The proposal had not taken away Nan’s appetite, nor 
had the refusal impaired Lawrence’s. They w T ere 
both voraciously hungry. 

So Margaret handed over the letters from home — 
a long one from Tory to Nan among them. And 
Nan read, and exclaimed, and told bits of news with 
such zest, that Margaret decided nothing special had 
occurred. 

“ Oh, what a shame !” cried Nan, as she came to 
confidences about a certain young minister. “ I 
meant to take Tory to Spain — ” 


198 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“ Where ?” cried Margaret. Lawrence was equal- 
ly astonished. 

Nan laughed. “ To one of my castles in Spain, of 
course. Tory is beautiful enough to be a queen.” 

Then Nan looked serious enough, and then laughed 
again. There was trouble at Castle Lowrie. Miss 
Grizzell, the strong one of the Macalasters, was so 
ill, Tory wrote, that her recovery was impossible. 
And yet, even on her death-bed, and apropos of her 
death, she had played on poor, heart-broken Euphe- 
mia a practical joke. 

Miss Grizzell on a certain day had been so low 
that the doctor had said she would scarcely live 
through the night. The house-keeper and the old- 
est servants had been in for a parting look, and had 
gone off sobbing; Sir Alaster and Euphemia, with 
the attendants, had kept a long watch in the room ; 
when all at once Euphemia, alarmed at her sister 
being so long motionless as well as speechless, gave 
the alarm that all was over. They gathered round 
the bed. The face had for days worn that gray pal- 
lor always associated with death, but it seemed to 
them it was now more pronounced. They lifted her 
hand ; it fell heavily. They spoke to her, tried to 
draw back the closed eyelids, but there was no sign. 
Then Euphemia had thrown herself upon the bed 
beside her, crying, “ Oh, Grizzy ! Grizzy !” when just 
as she was about to press the cold lips, “ Boo !” said 
the lips, almost sending poor Euphemia into convul- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


199 


sions. Miss Grizzell had actually been pretending 
to be dead ! 

44 And are all the Scotch ladies like that?” asked 
Lawrence. 

“ Oh no,” Nan said ; 44 but Miss Grizzell is strong- 
minded.” 

“I should think so. But it is her friends who 
should be strong-minded, it seems to me.” 

“Miss Grizzell,” said Margaret, 44 is a relic of an- 
other age. A great many old Scotch ladies used to 
be like that, as witness all the anecdotes about them. 
Did you never hear, Lawrence, the remark made by 
one who was dying when a fearful storm came on ? 
Britons always speak of the weather, you know, and 
this one, when the roar of the wind and rain reached 
her, exclaimed, 4 Hech, sirs, what a nicht for me to be 
fleein 5 through the air!’ And so saying, she died.” 

44 An invaluable patient — but I am not sure I 
should care for her otherwise. And will Nan get 
like that?” 

44 She is too great a coward,” said Nan for herself. 

44 1 am very glad she is.” 

44 Well, good people,” said Margaret, triumphantly, 
44 if you have finished your tea, you may come into 
the library, where I think I can promise you a sur- 
prise.” 

44 Another birthday present, I hope,” Dr. Preston 
said. 

44 Exactly.” 


200 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

“ A dog !” cried Nan. 

“ Another copy of the ‘ Proverbial Philosophy !’ ” 
guessed Lawrence. 

“ Come and see,” was all Margaret would say. 

In the library were Carrie and Mr. O’Neil, both 
looking pleased and expectant. Margaret opened 
her desk, took from it a slip of paper, and, in the 
style of Mr. Campbell offering the congregation’s 
new T -year’s gift to Mr. Leslie, presented it to Nan ; 
and Nan., unfolding it, beheld a check for three thou- 
sand dollars, made payable to Annie MacDonald. 

“ It is a joke,” said Nan. 

“ A pretty good joke,” said Margaret. 

“It is Confederate money, then,” Nan insisted. 

“Is Confederate money convertible into checks?” 

“ It means pay it in Confederate money then, or — ” 

“ Or fool’s gold, or chocolate creams. Don’t be a 
goose, Nan.” 

“My dear,” remonstrated Mr. O’Neil, “you don’t 
make allowance for such a surprise.” 

“She does not indeed,” said Carrie. “It means 
three thousand real dollars, Nan, and all your very 
own.’-’ 

“Please don’t deceive me,” said Nan, turning 
pale. “ Is it really no joke? You will tell me the 
truth, Hugh.” 

Mr. O’Neil was pleased at this appeal to him. 
“ It is no joke, dear Nan, it is three thousand real 
dollars, and every one of them your own.” And 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


201 


Hugh wished her joy of it, and actually rose and 
kissed her. Then Margaret kissed her, and Car- 
rie — and Dr. Preston, seeing no disapproval in 
Mrs. O’Neil’s face, followed suit. Nan scarcely no- 
ticed it. 

She was disposing of the money in a dozen differ- 
ent ways. She was wondering if Margaret would 
really let her have it all. She would always keep 
her purse full, and plenty in a drawer besides. 
Then only did she ask, “ Where did it come from ?” 

“ Thereby hangs a tale,” said Margaret. So Nan 
heard two stories in one day; but then it was her 
birthday. And at least one of them had been held 
in reserve for the occasion. Nan wandered why all 
the others left the room before Margaret began. 

“Before I tell you where the money comes from 
I want to tell you something else. Can you bear a 
great surprise ?” 

“ Oh Margaret, is it good news or bad ? Is Miss 
Grizzell dead? and did she leave me the money?” 

“ Don’t be silly, Nan,” Margaret replied, but in 
unwonted good-humor. “And don’t count on any- 
thing from Castle Lowrie unless a cat in cross-stitch 
or a crayon sketch of the departed.” 

“ Please don’t make fun of them ; they were so 
good to Tory and me. But oh! what is the news? 
Is anybody dead — anybody I know?” 

“Somebody is dead, but nobody you know.” 

“ Then I don’t care. Now, do tell me the news.” 


202 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“ But that is my second piece of news — that some- 
body is dead. My great surprise for you is that 
somebody is alive.” 

“ Why, everybody is alive if Miss Grizzell is. 
Margaret, don’t keep me in suspense.” 

“ Well, is there any one of the people you have 
supposed dead you would specially like to have 
alive ?” 

Nan’s brain seemed to reel. Margaret little knew 
the shock she was giving her. Far more faithful to 
the memory of that grave across the sea than Mar- 
garet was, her thoughts flew there instantly, and her 
imagination was only too ready to supply details. 
“Mamma!” she cried; then remembering that Mar- 
garet had not approved of her saying papa — “I 
mean your mamma.” 

“Nan!” exclaimed Margaret, much startled, “ one 
would think you were born yesterday. Now, pre- 
pare for a pleasant surprise. You knew your moth- 
er’s name ?” 

Mercedes Guzman came mechanically to Nan’s 
lips. 

“ Well, Mercedes Guzman is alive. You have a 
mother.” 

At first, to tell the truth, Nan did not feel much 
pleasure in the disclosure. Mercedes Guzman was 
all very well as a poetical abstraction, or as some one 
who had lived. Nan could not quite take in at first 
that the day for being more than this was not over. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


203 


But by the time Margaret had finished her tale 
Nan was reconciled, pleased, eager. The Spanish 
plan had to be given up (though of course she 
would visit the land of her ancestors), but it was 
the work of a moment to take to pieces, transport, 
and re-erect in Florida the palace of the Guzmans. 

I told the reader long ago that Margaret knew 
more of Nan’s family history than she did her- 
self. She had discovered in Scotland that an aunt 
of Captain MacDonald and of her mother was still 
living in Canada, and thinking it could do no harm 
and might do much good, as she expressed it, she 
had communicated with her as soon as she reached 
America. 

Margaret could write a very interesting and agree- 
able letter, and she did her best in addressing Miss 
MacDonald. Her grand-aunt, however, received her 
overtures but coldly. She had once upon a time 
been completely taken in and nearly ruined by Cap- 
tain MacDonald. She had had enough of nephews 
and nieces. 

Margaret was not to be repulsed, however. She 
wrote again, sympathizing with her aunt’s wrongs, 
and relating something of what her mother had suf- 
fered and her father paid for the family scapegrace. 
Then she had mentioned Nan’s penniless condition; 
the humble, but happy home she had had in the 
Manse, and the other home Margaret was determined 
to offer her in the New World. 


204 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

Miss MacDonald became interested in spite of 
herself. She asked anxiously if Nan inherited any 
of her father’s failings ; to which Margaret replied 
that at one time they had feared greatly for her 
cousin, but that the influence of the family circle 
at the Manse had done much, while that of her 
own quiet Christian home might confldently be 
counted upon to do much more. And then Mar- 
garet inquired about the family of Nan’s dead 
mother. 

Miss MacDonald replied that when last she heard 
of Mercedes Guzman she was not a dead, but a liv- 
ing, mother. All she knew of the family was that 
they were Spaniards who had emigrated to Florida, 
that the mother was dead, and that Mercedes was 
the only child. The separation had taken place 
shortly after the marriage, and Captain MacDonald, 
with what his aunt thought unpardonable cruelty, 
had robbed the mother of her baby and sent it to a 
nurse. It was known that no blame attached to the 
mother, for the captain had been forced to sign a 
declaration to this effect. “ As to the circumstances 
of the Guzmans,” wrote Miss MacDonald, “ I know 
nothing, but I think I am safe in saying that Alan 
MacDonald would have married no human being 
without money, or the prospect of money. A year 
or two after his death I heard from my lawyer of 
his widow’s marriage, but I never knew the name of 
the second husband, and I have quite forgotten where 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


205 


the Guzmans lived. The solicitor who acted for me 
at that time is dead long ago.” 

Then there had been a long break in the corre- 
spondence ; then a letter from a firm of lawyers in- 
forming Mrs. O’Neil of Miss MacDonald’s death, and 
of the legacy to Nan ; and then in due course the 
check had arrived. 

When Nan had exhausted herself in conjectures 
as to the appearance, manners, disposition, local hab- 
itation, name, and fortunes of Mercedes Guzman, it 
occurred to her to ask why the money had not been 
sent to Margaret, as she was just as near a rela- 
tion. “ A mysterious providence,” groaned Marga- 
ret. “ And you are her namesake, it seems.” Nan at 
once offered to divide. Margaret would not accept : 
was not quite capable of making money out of her 
own blood, etc. “ And you know, Nan,” she said, 
“you have always seemed even nearer to me than 
Tory.” She proposed, however, that Nan should 
join them in the purchase of land to the extent of 
half the legacy, while the other half should be placed 
in bank, to be drawn upon for dress and such mat- 
ters. Nan was enraptured. Had Margaret only of- 
fered her a hundred dollars in cash to put at once into 
her pocket, she might have had the other two thou- 
sand nine hundred. Margaret, for her part, would 
never have consented to the bank arrangement but 
that she thought a trousseau would shortly be need- 
ed, And she had omitted to mention that in consid- 
14 


206 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

eration of the “ quiet Christian home ” she was sup- 
plying, Miss MacDonald had sent her a handsome 
sum at the time of Nan’s arrival. 

So, mutually pleased, though mutually deceived, 
they parted for the night, and Nan flew up to Carrie 
to go over the wonderful tidings. It reminded her 
of the confidences with Tory in the “ silent watch- 
es,” when first they had discussed “ M. G.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


Nan’s star had reached its zenith. 

It was known in Willoughby that she had had 
money left her — not a great deal, people were told, 
yet they had no idea how little. Some put it as low 
as twenty thousand dollars, others raised it to a hun- 
dred thousand. She had been in a fair way of being 
spoiled before ; she was spoiled now. 

Margaret forbade her mentioning the legacy in 
writing home, so that Nan could not send any part 
of it there. “ I rather think you will find yourself 
in Scotland before very long,” Mrs. O’Neil said, 
knowingly, “ and it will be a thousand times better 
to give than to send.” 

So Nan began to spend money on dress ; and as 
Mrs. O’Neil had quite made up her mind the mar- 
riage would be soon, she did not object. The search 
for Mercedes Guzman had been confided to a law- 
yer — not one of their friends in Willoughby, but 
a stranger in New York ; for Margaret always con- 
sidered contingencies. And meantime Nan studied 
Spanish, to prepare herself for the meeting. 

She wrote long letters to Tory in which she began 


208 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


to develop a sarcastic vein, though it was really only 
an imitation of Margaret. She described the queer 
kind of mixed society — a few old Southern families 
who bewailed their lot at having to mix with such 
people as Rouge-dragon, who had fought, and rich oil 
men, who had bought, their way in. Those were the 
days of easily made and easily lost fortunes. Shoddy 
they knew of in Virginia only by hearsay, but petro- 
leum they had before their eyes. Nan told of Miss 
Preston’s disgust at the nouveaux riches , and of some 
of the eccentricities of the latter, and vowed that 
the man in California who sued the railway company 
because his Venus de Milo arrived in a “damaged” 
condition was not a circumstance to some of the oil 
people. Then, political feeling was still bitter, and 
some of the arguments used at election times were 
amazing. A “ carpet-bagger ” was “ run ” for may- 
or, and in a speech he declared himself the working- 
men’s candidate, and made certain claims on their 
suffrages. And forthwith his organ was filled with 
paragraphs in large print adjuring every elector to 
“ vote for Hiram B. Higgins , the man who never 
wore trousers till he was ten years old /” 

Then Nan had a hit at the Southern party too. 
Even Carrie, she said, was absurdly prejudiced, and 
would not allow her to be intimate with a Northern 
lady whom she greatly fancied, because this person 
had been what Carrie considered improperly far 
West . “ The idea,” Miss Preston had said, “ of as- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


209 


sociating with a woman who has been at Pike’s 
Peak !” Nan declared she did not see why it should 
be fashionable to go to the Alps, and pious to go to 
Mount Ararat, but improper to go to Pike’s Peak. 
She told Tory also of the Hetheringtons, who had 
lived farther south in great state and glory, and who 
now had to take boarders. Mrs. Hetherington her- 
self was an elegant, languishing creature, with a neck 
like Margaret’s, only longer; but her children were 
ill-conditioned cubs — more like Bridget than Mrs. 
Hetherington. It seemed that through all their vi- 
cissitudes they had managed to keep their plate ; and 
Nan used to meet the cubs going for milk with great 
jugs of solid silver beautifully wrought, but battered 
almost out of shape by frequent falls and contact 
with lamp-posts. 

Of course Nan wrote of Lawrence — how hand- 
some he was, and how clever ; and how old-fashioned 
Willoughby doctors, who still gave medicine in great 
horse -doses, and blistered and bled, and even sali- 
vated, had looked jealously upon his superior knowl- 
edge until some wonderful surgical operations had 
conquered them. And she wrote of the expedition 
to the island, and of what had taken place there ; 
and after describing everything as she had planned 
it for her picture, pronounced it a perfect idyl. She 
also implored Tory to be slow in accepting any mat- 
rimonial overtures, as she, Nan, had plans for her. 

It is useless, as I said before, to moralize over what 


210 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

might have been, or I might lose myself in conject- 
ures as to Nan’s fate, had circumstances been differ- 
ent : had she stayed in Strathlowrie ; had the “ quiet 
Christian home” had a stronger-minded master or a 
less worldly-minded mistress; had Lawrence never 
told the tale of Irene ; or had Miss MacDonald never 
left her the three thousand dollars. 

The “ Analogy,” for which she had expressed such 
a liking, points out how the world within us and the 
world without us correspond ; how any case of wrong- 
doing implies outward circumstances falling in with 
inward desire, and vice versa . Every one will admit 
that the circumstances in Nan’s case were favorable 
for imprudence; and she was Captain MacDonald’s 
daughter. 

At first it was pleasant to Nan to talk about her 
bank account ; to remark casually to her young 
friends that she must go and cash a check, as she 
really had not more than ten dollars or so left in her 
purse. She was even guilty of the little vanity of 
leaving her check-book at Mrs. Benjamin’s, and then 
rushing back to know if they had seen it. But after 
a while the bank-book was hidden as suddenly as the 
little savings -box had been years before, and Nan 
was really afraid to think how much she had spent. 
Then, to drown reflection, she would go and buy 
something more. 

Sometimes she had studious fits. She would be- 
gin a book like the “ Anatomy of Melancholy,” and 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


211 


never stop till she knew every word of it ; or she 
would take a turn at her music, and practise three 
hours daily for about two days. She had more 
stories and poems and essays begun than she could 
have finished with six months steady labor. She 
had half a dozen canvases with “ compositions” in 
various stages — the idyl among them. What would 
the minister have said to the wasted days? The 
curse of Reuben was upon her: “Unstable as water, 
thou shalt not excel.” 

Carrie took her to Baltimore that winter, and she 
shared the attentions always lavished upon Miss Pres- 
ton. There she had an opportunity of admiring what 
was a beautiful feature of Southern character in those 
days — the courtesy and kindness paid to those who 
had suffered for the “ Lost Cause.” There, too, she 
might have learned again the beauty of honorable 
independence. There were no bounds to the gener- 
osity of those who had managed to retain their wealth 
except the impassable ones prescribed by those on 
whom they would have lavished it. High-born, del- 
icate ladies, on whom the winds of heaven had scarce 
been suffered to blow, lived in single rooms, wherever 
these were cheapest — in dreary tenements, in attics. 
Penniless, they did what they could, or what they 
might — taught, painted, sang, sewed, starved; and 
the last was the only detail they sought to hide. It 
was grand that society still delighted to honor them ; 
it was grander that they never thought of declining 


212 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER* 


such honor, though they would accept nothing else. 
Clad in some poor, cheap stuff, put together by their 
own unaccustomed hands, or in some faded silk made 
in the fashions of the year before the war, they had 
lost none of their old grace or graciousness ; nor did 
they dream of receiving, any more than their hosts of 
abating, any of the ancient courtesy. Never was the 
motto Noblesse oblige more honorably put in prac- 
tice. If pride was with them a vice before the war, 
it was an heroic virtue after it. 

So it came to pass that Nan met Mrs. le Moine ; 
not that Carrie sought her, old friends though they 
were. “ Who can find a logical woman ?” Dr. Pres- 
ton had asked. His sister did not pretend to be log- 
ical, any more than to be adventurous like the Pike’s 
Peak woman. She had sympathized with Irene’s 
sentiments thoroughly, but all the same she had 
never forgiven her for refusing her brother. She 
had never seen her, and never written to her since. 
Should she meet her she would be polite, she had 
decided ; certainly not friendly. 

It will be remembered that Lawrence had said 
nothing to Nan of Irene’s singing, so that when 
young Walter Fitzhugh hurried her off from ball- 
room to music-room one evening to hear somebody 
sing, she went with no special interest. 

But what a voice it was that held every one as in 
a spell ! There was none of the talking or laughing 
with which polite society, after having worried some 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


213 


one into a musical effort, generally shows its appre- 
ciation. Nan herself paused breathless at the door ; 
she would not move lest she should break the en- 
chantment. 

A well-known professor of music was at the piano. 
The Italian was eager to do justice to the singer, and 
followed every note with such fierce eyes and absurd 
contortions of the mouth that it was fortunate no one 
was looking at him. Nan was quite familiar with the 
air — the Involami from “Ernani,” the opera which 
was then the rage ; and she had seen as well as heard 
it rendered but a few nights before with all the ag- 
onies of the operatic stage. This singer stood motion- 
less ; Nan could not see the face, but the figure might 
have been carved in stone. 

“Un Eden, un Eden di delizio,” 

sang the clear, beautiful voice. It thrilled Nan’s 
heart, and yet it seemed to say so unmistakably that 
she to whom it belonged was careless of her audience 
and incredulous of Edens. 

“ Un Eden, un Eden di delizio.” 

It was an artistic reproduction of passion ; it was 
not passion itself. What a glorious thing it would 
be to awaken her heart! Nan thought. 

And then the singer turned, and Nan recognized — 
Irene. Awaken her heart indeed ! Nan knew now 
that what she had missed was not unawakened, but 
dead. 


214 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Nan turned to Carrie, who was near. “ It is 
Irene,” she said* 

“ And what do you know of Irene ?” said Miss 
Preston. 

44 1 will tell you after. Will you introduce me ?” 

“ Certainly not. Was it Margaret who favored 
you with the story ?” 

44 No,” said Nan ; “ Margaret never mentioned her 
name.” 

While this was going on, most of the guests were 
gathered about Irene, begging for “ Furl that Ban- 
ner!” It was a song not worth much, perhaps, ei- 
ther as to words or music, but it was the requiem of 
the 44 Lost Cause.” 

Irene declined courteously, but peremptorily. 

44 My dear,” said a very disagreeable voice, at once 
unctuous and wheezy, 44 1 am sure you will oblige our 
friend by singing your General’s favorite.” 

Nan, looking in the direction of the voice, saw at 
mountain of flesh seated near the piano. He did not. 
offer to rise, and Nan could conceive it would be dif- 
ficult. She only wondered that any chair could bear 
his weight. General le Moitie had a bald head, a. 
fierce gray mustache, watery eyes — or, to speak more 
correctly, brandy-and-watery eyes — and, in spite of 
Margaret’s account to Sophy, the usual number of 
arms and legs. Though this was an evening party,, 
the mountain was clothed in Confederate gray. It 
had a pompous voice, constantly interrupted by a. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


215 


short, asthmatic cough, and seemed to receive a good 
deal of attention from the fair; and it was as per- 
fect a specimen of the selfish humbug as you would 
find from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico. 

Irene at once went to the piano, but motioned the 
Italian away. She allowed no one to accompany her 
in that song. 

If Nan had missed passion before, she did not miss 
it now. There are women as well as men to whom 
love of country is more than love of kindred. So it 
was now with Irene. Her dead she could love still ; 
they were a part of her patriotism — the dearer for 
it as it was the dearer for them. But all the love 
she could not or would not give the living was lav- 
ished upon her fallen country. 

“ That’s the sort of song to fire the Southern 
heart!” said Walter Fitzhugh, triumphantly, when 
the song ended. “ Look at the Beast rubbing his 
fat old hands and taking all the compliments as if 
he had sung it himself.” 

“The beast?” said Nan, inquiringly. 

“Yes, the old demijohn. We always call them 
Beauty and the Beast. 

Nan looked at Beauty till Carrie declared she 
would attract attention. Nan could not help look- 
ing. She would have known her anywhere, she 
decided. But then she had known Irene was in 
Baltimore, and had been almost unconsciously look- 
ing for her. The beautiful face seemed scarcely ten 


216 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

years older, but it was at least ten years sadder. 
This was not the radiant Irene of the picture and 
the old well, nor even the grief-stricken Irene who 
had gone to receive her dead father; and yet, Nan 
thought, this was the most perfect of the three. To 
say she was the loveliest woman Nan had ever seen, 
is saying little. People who had seen the beauties 
of both hemispheres declared there was not one 
like her. 

From the face and figure Nan glanced at the 
dress. How absurd any one else would have looked 
in it. It was a “shot 55 silk of ancient make. The 
wide sleeves had white lace ones beneath. Nan 
thought, with indignation, of Mrs. General Jones, 
who had once, Aunt Sally said, been “ pore white 
trash , 55 in her black velvet and lace and diamond 
cross, and wished to make a redistribution of the 
good things of this life. And yet it was only turn 
about. Irene had had her good things, and Mrs. 
General Jones her evil things, long ago. 

“ Thank Heaven , 55 said Miss Preston to Nan, as the 
maid was cloaking her, “ it is over at last ! 55 She did 
not look, however, quite as relieved as the fervor of 
her words would imply. Was she glad or sorry when, 
even as she spoke, Irene approached ? 

The former friends looked at each other. Miss 
Preston bowed coldly. 

But all at once the pale, proud face was transfig- 
ured by the sweetest smile, and Irene came nearer. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


217 


“ I think,” she said, “ we can afford to bridge over 
the gulf of ten years by at least a touch of the hand.” 

And then Miss Preston, utterly conquered, did 
what she had been longing to do all the time she 
had been keeping the length of the room apart. 
She clasped Irene in her arms, burst into tears, and 
sobbed, “ Oh, my darling! my darling!” It was not 
only men who loved Irene well. 

Nan felt herself de trop , and thought of vanishing. 
But Carrie drew Irene towards her. 

“ Here,” she said, “ is a little rebel you must love 
for my sake until she makes you love her for her 
own. She has been ready to die for the South ever 
since she saw it, and for you ever since she saw 
you.” 

Irene put out both hands with ready grace. The 
eyes that looked into hers were for the moment al- 
most as bright as her own. 

Nan had inherited from her father — or through 
him from some worthier ancestor — a touch of chiv- 
alry that in a lady was odd, but attractive. The 
white roses she wore were still fresh ; at once un- 
fastening them, she handed them to Irene. “My 
forefathers loved ‘their Lost Cause,” she said, “ as 
passionately as you do yours. These are the white 
roses of the Stuarts.” 

“Ah !” said Irene to Carrie, as she took the roses, 
“your rebel has not given me time to care for her 
for your sake. I love her for her own already.” 


218 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


And then she just touched Nan’s cheek with her 
lips. 

Miss Preston and Nan were silent as they drove 
away, each thinking of the same person. Not so 
long before Nan had sighed, “ Oh, if I might only 
be one of the nuns of Mother Frangoise !” And 
now her aspiration was, “ Oh, if I might only be 
the Beast !” 

Had Nan’s wish been gratified, her happiness, as 
far as this world is concerned, had been of short du- 
ration ; for General le Moine had an apoplectic seiz- 
ure a day or two afterwards, and in another day or 
two obituary notices as pompous as himself, and al- 
most as large, filled the Southern papers. 

“ Curious coincidence,” said Walter, who rushed 
in with the news. “ ¥e always called him Old Apo- 
plexy.” 

“ I thought,” said Nan, “ you said he was called 
the Beast.” 

“ So he was; and the Brandy-bottle, and the Dem- 
ijohn, and the Grumblebug. Jewhilikins ! don’t 
1 wish I had the writing of the funeral oration ! 
Pecksniff couldn’t hold a candle to him.” 

De mortuis , etc. Irene said no evil of the depart- 
ed, nor will we. 

But was there ever so impulsive a creature as Nan 
MacDonald ? She wrote to Lawrence that the first 
part of her prediction was fulfilled, and the second 
would be. u Highlanders have second sight, you 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


219 


know,” she said, “so you cannot escape the fate I 
foretell for you.” By way of answer, Lawrence came 
and took her home. His sister was going south with 
Irene. The General, with all his aliases, was to sleep 
among the Hamiltons, 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


It was not a very light heart that Nan took back 
to Willoughby. She had something to hide, some- 
thing to try to forget. For Nan, when she had 
brought a trouble on herself, never faced it, but 
simply tried to make believe it was not there. 

Mrs. O’Neil remarked her manner at once. She 
alternated between gayety and depression, and was 
growing daily more unlike her old self. Lawrence 
saw the change, and blamed the overrating of her 
literary work, and, above all, Mrs. O’Neil. That 
General le Moine’s death should make any difference 
to him he would not allow. It seemed to him that 
it would be better for Nan, and better for himself, 
to be married at once. And this time he went to 
Mrs. O’Neil. 

Of course Margaret was delighted to be consulted, 
and could sincerely promise to aid and abet Law- 
rence’s plans. It was with no little chagrin, how- 
ever, that she discovered Dr. Preston did not intend 
to continue the double household. He spoke frankly 
of his plans. They would go abroad for six months, 
and that would, he hoped, give Margaret time to ar- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


221 


range everything. Of course he should wish his wife 
to be at the head of her own house ; and he added, 
anticipating Margaret’s proposal, he would not be 
willing for her to be responsible for the comfort of 
any one, however near and dear, except Carrie, whose 
home would of course be with them. 

Mrs. O’Neil never argued with Dr. Preston. When 
he left her she took a rapid view of the situation. 
To occupy the parsonage after Preston Place would 
indeed be most disagreeable ; and if preventing Nan’s 
marriage would have also prevented such a catastro- 
phe, she would not have hesitated half a second ; for 
of course she had looked upon Nan simply as a con- 
venient bridge between the good things of the Pres- 
tons and herself, Margaret O’Neil. But Dr. Preston 
was evidently bent on marrying; and it would be 
much better* to be dispossessed for Nan, whom she 
had always been able to “ twist round her finger,” 
than for a stranger. 

So Margaret, having settled the case in her own 
mind, determined to settle it in Nan’s; and going in 
search of that young person, found her in her room 
in tears. Pressed to account for them, she could 
give no other reason than a letter just received from 
Uncle Robert. The minister had read the conceit 
and vanity in Nan’s late epistles, and had figura- 
tively “ taken a dealing” with her. 

“ Good gracious, Nan !” cried Margaret, “ what on 
earth does it matter, when he is on one side of the 
15 


222 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


world and you on the other? It all comes from your 
tattling everything you know. Why, papa knows 
less about me than he does about the Red Indians. 
He supposes I preside at female prayer- meetings, 
and am never without a red petticoat to make or a 
moral pocket-handkerchief to hem. And I let him 
suppose it.” 

“ And Miss Grizzell is dead.” 

“ Of course Miss Grizzell is dead ; and high time 
too. Didn’t I mention it ? What’s the use of sing- 
ing yourself into raptures over ‘ The Happy Land,’ 
and then howling whenever one of your friends 
goes there ?” 

“ And — he doesn’t think much of my pieces.” 

“ Ah ! there's where the shoe pinches. Well, nei- 
ther do I. Don’t be furious now. They are very 
well written, but they’re young . You will scream 
over them yourself in five years.” 

Then Margaret introduced the subject of her em- 
bassy, knowing that Han was never so likely to rush 
into a new scheme as when she had discovered the 
vanity and vexation of an old one. But Han wept 
on, and would not be comforted. At last she sobbed, 
“ I have no money to get married with.” 

Then inquiries followed ; and had Han only told 
the truth, Mrs. O’Heil’s anger in present circum- 
stances would have been short-lived; for Margaret 
never troubled herself about the right or wrong of 
an action, but judged solely by its effects, 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


223 


But Nan was a moral coward ; and had not Marga- 
ret just been giving her a lesson in deceit? So she 
simply confessed to having spent a good deal of her 
money, while she knew she would require a very 
handsome trousseau — the Prestons’ friends in Balti- 
more had been so elegantly dressed. And then she 
would want a great deal for presents to take to 
Strathlowrie. 

Now, the intended land purchase had not been 
made, and the rest of Nan’s money was lying in 
bank. But Mrs. O’Neil, since her conversation with 
Dr. Preston, had intended it to furnish the parson- 
age. It w r ould be a graceful way, she decided, for 
Nan to mark the close of her guardianship, and she 
was sure Dr. Preston would consent. It was in vain, 
however, that she tried to persuade Nan there would 
be time enough after marriage for the presents. Nan 
declared she must have all her money, or she would 
not get married ; but that if Margaret thought she 
was entitled to it, she would make it up afterwards. 
Then Margaret mentioned the going to the parson- 
age, not as something that had been suggested to her, 
but as what her own sense of delicacy must insist 
upon. And Nan was so grateful and so relieved at 
the prospect of the money that she all but swore 
Margaret should not leave Preston Place. 

The truth was, that Nan had spent not only all 
her own money, but two hundred dollars of Miss 
Preston’s. It was only four months since the happy 


224 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

birthday, and it may be thought that a girl who had 
never before had more than five pounds at a time 
and not that till she was leaving Strathlowrie— could 
not possibly dispose of over three hundred in four 
months. But Nan was a born spendthrift, as her 
father had been before her, and her ideas always rose 
to the occasion. She had been extravagant with the 
five pounds, she was extravagant with the three hun- 
dred ; and if her next windfall had been a million, 
she would have planned immediate purchases on 
more than the million scale, and would have been 
penniless in three or four months more. 

When, in Baltimore, she had come to the end of 
everything, Miss Preston had taken it for granted 
she had simply not drawn enough for her needs be- 
fore leaving Willoughby ; and I am sorry to say 
that, borrowed money as it was, Carrie’s first hun- 
dred went as quickly as the rest had gone, and then 
Nan applied for a second. Miss Preston was star- 
tled, and gave her some good advice, but supposed 
there had been an extraordinary piece of extrava- 
gance which would not be repeated. 

Naturally, Margaret wished to know how much 
there was still in the bank. Nan plunged herself 
into more difficulties; one lie, as her uncle had al- 
ways taught her, may lead to a hundred. She and 
Carrie, she said, had got their accounts mixed up in 
Baltimore, and she could not tell very well how she 
stood till Miss Preston came home. Then costly 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


225 


things had been ordered in Baltimore, and she gave 
Margaret to understand these were paid for; so that 
Mrs. O’Neil came to the conclusion that for one who 
was on the eve of marrying a very rich man, Nan 
had not done so badly. 

Well, the rest of the money was placed to Nan’s 
credit on the distinct understanding that she would 
marry Lawrence, and Nan was the gayest person in 
Willoughby for about twenty -four hours. When 
Lawrence smilingly asked if he might bring up and 
settle the matter she had left in statu quo , she at 
once acceded. But when he, trying faithfully to put 
out of his head and heart all the wild thoughts Nan 
herself had suggested, would have spoken of their 
married life^sbe did not care to discuss anything but 
the going to Strathlowrie. She described to him 
again and again the church and Manse, and her un- 
cle and Tory. She sang like Rorie and prayed like 
Peter Duff, and behaved altogether like a madcap. 

After twenty- four hours there came a reaction. 
She believed that, much as she liked Dr. Preston as 
a friend or brother, she did not care that he should 
be her husband. But then, if it had only been sac- 
rificing herself and Dr. Preston, she thought she 
would not have minded. What troubled her most 
was that another face kept rising continually before 
her — the beautiful face of one for whom she had de- 
clared it would be a pleasure and a privilege to die, 
if need be. If Irene’s pride did not still stand be- 


226 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


tween her and her old lover, nothing else need now 5 
and yet here was she putting herself between. She 
felt as mean as when she had hidden herself in the 
long grass and eaten the six apples. Then Lawrence 
had a careworn look that touched her. Could it be 
that he, too, was thinking of what might have been ? 
Nan could have cried sometimes as she thought of 
it all, but she had made up her mind that nothing 
could be done about it. They must both (all, if Ire- 
ne cared) be sacrificed. 

Many and many a time Nan wished she could find 
Mercedes Guzman, and go to her. She did not think 
so much now of meeting her mother as she had done. 
She wished specially to save herself from Margaret’s 
anger without giving up either Irene’s happiness or 
her own ease. But for a month or two Margaret had 
discouraged any reference to Mercedes. It was al- 
most impossible, she said, to trace people after a life- 
time’s separation ; and, after all, she did not know 
that it was to be desired. What pleasure would there 
be in meeting when they could not have a thought 
in common ? 

Nan gave up her Spanish, and began to sacrifice to 
fashion after the Chinese method. The Baltimore 
ladies are noted for their lovely little feet. One of 
them had told Nan that hers were the largest in Bal- 
timore, and they only required No. 1J boots, while 
No. 3 pinched Nan’s toes. She determined to con- 
fine the unruly members in a pair of No. 2’s ; and 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


227 


this not only rendered locomotion difficult, but gave 
her a woe-begone expression which her friends en- 
tirely misinterpreted. Mother Fran^ise attributed 
it to the natural remorse suffered by one who had 
not responded to her vocation. Mrs. Benjamin re- 
marked that the “ yearning look” was growing upon 
her, while Mrs. O’Neil begged her for goodness’ sake 
not to look as if she had cramp colic. 

“ Why do you stay in the house so much, Nan ?” 
Dr. Preston asked one morning. “ Come and walk 
with me as far as Edith’s.” 

The day was bright ; the No. 2’s were excruciating. 
Nan at once decided that hien chaussee referred to 
shape and quality, and was quite independent of 
size. 

So the No. 2’s were abandoned forever, and the 
painful experiment, like most of Nan’s experiments, 
went for nothing. 

“ Somebody ought to cane those little wretches!” 
said Nan, as they passed two telegraph-boys on their 
knees on a sidewalk, each with a message in his left 
hand and a marble in his right. 

“Hi, Doc!” called one of the boys, as he caught 
sight of the doctor. “ Here you are !” and he held 
up the soiled envelope. 

“ What does he dare to call you ?” said Nan, in 
wrath. 

The doctor laughed. “Young America is not so 
respectful as young Scotland. When your Prince 


228 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

of Wales was here they hailed him with ‘ Hi, Wales P 
I suppose this will tell us Carrie is coming . 55 

Lawrence opened the telegram. “ Good God P 5 
he gasped. 

“ Oh, Lawrence P 5 cried Nan, terrified at his white 
face ; “ what is it ? 55 

Dr. Preston regained his composure almost at 
once. “Nothing to be alarmed about , 55 he said, kind- 
ly. “ Carrie is — not quite well . 55 

Nan caught the paper and read : 

“Carrie taken suddenly ill. Come immediately. 

“ I. le Moine . 55 

Nan burst into tears. Lawrence quietly turned 
towards home. The big boots did good service. 

Nan tried to say she was sorry — sorry for Carrie, 
sorry for Lawrence — but she could not speak. Did 
Death spare no one? Were they all going to die? 
That was the one way of “settling things 55 she could 
not think of with equanimity. She wanted to live, 
and she wanted her friends to live. 

How kind Lawrence was to her, trying to make 
light of the illness to comfort her, when his own 
heart must be so heavy. In that short walk Nan 
seemed to care for him as she had never cared be- 
fore. She wondered if it could be that she had 
loved him all the while without knowing it. With 
one of her quick impulses, she decided she loved him 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 229 

well enough to make a sacrifice for his sake, and not 
the one she had intended making. 

“ Lawrence,” she said, hurriedly, as they reached 
the gate, “let me go with you to the station, please. 
I have a special reason.” 

“ Surely, dear. How good of you to think of it !” 
returned Lawrence, his face almost brightening. 

So at the first train for the South they stood to- 
gether, an hour or two later ; Sam at a discreet dis- 
tance. Han waited till the last possible minute, and 
then she slipped a sealed note into Lawrence’s hand. 

“ Promise that you won’t read it,” she said, “ till 
just before you leave Beauvoir.” 

“ But is it bad or good ?” 

“ Good, of course ; altogether good. Do you think 
I could give you anything bad to-day ?” 

“ Then I promise.” 

Shriek ! The train was off. Han was alone on 
the platform ; she had a desolate feeling as if alone 
in the world. She went home, pleaded headache, 
and cried herself to sleep, which Mrs. O’Heil thought 
silly, but satisfactory. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

It was impossible that Lawrence should, in the 
circumstances, give more than a passing thought to 
any one but Carrie. And yet it was also impossible 
that he should find himself on the way to Beauvoir, 
in any circumstances, without thinking of former 
journeys, and of her for whom they had been taken. 
His spirits did not rise with the thought. When last 
he had passed southward, a beautiful and prosperous 
country, teeming with evidences of wealth and lux- 
ury, had been spread out before him. How all 
was desolation and decay. Here a few charred tim- 
bers told of some noble mansion wantonly burned ; 
there a negro sat smoking his corn-cob pipe on the 
front piazza of a place whose name was historic. 
The rich acres lay uncultivated. The mass of the 
newly enfranchised were slow to believe that liberty 
could possibly mean labor. Had not their prophets 
told them not only that their oppressors should fall, 
but that they, the oppressed, snould sit in their 
places? Old-time slaves had been satisfied to post- 
pone such a happy state of things to another world. 
Their idea of heaven had been that there the blacks 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


231 


should sit at the table, while the proud white folks 
should “grease de griddle and turn de cakes . 55 But 
the enthusiasts — half religious and half political — of 
war times were for no postponements. Heaven, 
without waiting for them to come to it, was to come 
at once to them. The popular idea was summed up 
in the chorus : 

“De massa run, ha ! ha ! 

De darkey stay, ho ! ho ! 

It mus’ be dat de kingdom’s cornin’, 

An’ de year ob jubilo !” 

Lawrence thought of the proud owners of these 
deserted plantations — some dead; some in foreign 
lands; some in cities, working for the merest pit- 
tance; some clinging yet to the ancestral acres, with 
low-born adventurers, and even negroes, ruling them 
— and began to comprehend that though ultimately 
the crisis through which the South was passing might 
be the redemption of the whites even more than 
of the blacks, it was more bitter than death to the 
generation passing through it. 

He had told Nan that he was naturally as proud 
as Irene, and he had tried after the General’s death 
to hurry on his marriage, because he had felt it as 
impossible to forgive as to be forgiven. 

But passing through the desolate land, he felt 
more kindly to the proud, sensitive woman who had 
scorned him. He wondered what her life had been 
with her husband. The world held two opinions in 


232 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

regard to the General, though it had only published 
one. But every one spoke of Irene as a model of 
wifely duty. 

Well, what did it matter now ? It was Death, not 
Love, thought Lawrence, that was claiming him to- 
day; for a sad presentiment had settled upon his 
heart. 

He reached the once beautiful city ; and here, even 
more than in the country, ruin stared him in the face. 
It had stood in the way of Sherman in his march to 
the sea. 

Did he recall the stately coach, with its high-bred 
horses and liveried servants, that used to be in wait- 
ing? or Harry’s handsome, reckless face and dare- 
devil driving? or — 

“Marse Lawrence! Marse Lawrence !” cried a trem- 
ulous but joyful voice. An old negro in tatters that 
a scarecrow would have refused had doffed his crown- 
less beaver, and stood smiling and bowing. “ My hum- 
ble respecks, Marse Lawrence. Dis is a sight good 
foh ole eyes, sah !” 

Lawrence stared. “ Great heavens !” he cried, “ it 
is Uncle Zeke,” and he seized the scarecrow’s hand. 
“ How is my sister ?” 

“ Miss Car’line, bress de Lord, is bettah, sah, an’ 
out ob danger. Dem is Miss Irene’s own words, Marse 
Lawrence.” 

“ Thank God !” said Lawrence. “ And this is really 
you, Uncle Zeke?” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


233 


Uncle Zeke beamed. “Minerba done said — you 
remembahs Minerba, sah? — dat young Marse Law- 
rence nebbah know me widout de libery. An’ I 
done tole Minerba, sah, dat I wan’t skeared. No, 
Marse Lawrence, I wan’t one mite skeared.” 

Uncle Zeke waved his hand towards a rickety old 
omnibus drawn by a spavined horse. 

“ De stables, Marse Lawrence, is not what dey used 
to was. But dis yere hoss, sah, is better to go dan to 
look at. Got a deal ob life in him, Marse Lawrence.” 

The wretched piebald’s looks certainly belied its 
reputation. Lawrence could have laughed in old 
Zeke’s face, only it was all so pitiful. He climbed 
into the musty omnibus. 

“Miss Irene an’ Miss Car’line drobe home in dis 
yer kerridge, Marse Lawrence,” said Uncle Zeke, as 
he closed the door. “ De remains was nigh onto a 
day’s work for a mule. Powerful heavy remains, 
Marse Lawrence.” And the piebald shambled off. 

Outward circumstances were still depressing, yet 
Lawrence’s spirits had risen — the relief in regard 
to Carrie was so great. Then Irene had been in the 
omnibus, and so what did it matter that the lining 
was ragged and mildewed — that straw hung out of 
the cushions — that the glass had long since disap- 
peared — and that a peculiar one-sided jolt seemed to 
indicate the probable failing of a wheel? He almost 
thought he could discern the faint odor of violets, 
that to him was always associated with Irene. He 


234 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

would not light the cigar he had taken out ; it seemed 
desecration. 

The drive to Beauvoir used to occupy an hour. 
With the piebald it required nearly four. Dr. Pres- 
ton would have got out and walked but for fear of 
seeming to scorn the humble conveyance. 

But could this be Beauvoir at which they arrived 
at last? The fences were burned, the plantation was 
uncultivated, the pleasure-grounds lay waste, the man- 
sion-house was a shell. The omnibus passed the front 
entrance, from which a double flight of steps had dis- 
appeared, leaving the door high in air, and drove to 
the side of the house, where Irene awaited her guest. 
In deep mourning she had been when Lawrence part- 
ed from her last ; in deep mourning she was, now that 
they met again. She was pale and sad, but showed 
no traces of resentment or coldness as she extended 
her hand, apologizing for having given a false alarm, 
and telling him their physician had approved the 
sending for him. 

Lawrence assured her smilingly that men of his 
profession liked false alarms rather than over-confi- 
dence in nurses. 

And then he was shown by Uncle Zeke to a suite 
of rooms he well remembered. They had been Har- 
ry’s in the old days, and had been tilled with all the 
luxuries that a travelled young man of many whims, 
and the power of gratifying them all, could gather 
together. Now they were like all the other rooms 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


235 


in the house- — carpetless, bare, destitute of all but the 
commonest necessaries of life. 

Minerva was in waiting to take him to Miss Pres- 
ton. He went with a beating heart. Old memories 
were crowding upon him. Carrie was in the apart- 
ment that used to be his own. 

Surely there was a magic about Beauvoir that made 
people look and feel young again. Carrie was ten 
years older than Irene, though they had once been 
intimate and dear friends; but as she lay there on 
her sofa, smiling at her brother, who had knelt to 
kiss her, Lawrence thought he had never seen her 
look so well. She had not been a celebrated beauty 
like Irene, but some people had admired her style 
more. Long ago Lawrence had called them Night 
and Morning. 

Yery fair Morning looked now — her delicate com- 
plexion and hair set off by a robe of soft misty blue, 
her eyes bright with pleasure at her brother’s com- 
ing. There was an indescribable softness and nat- 
uralness about her which Lawrence could remember, 
but w r hich certainly had not been Carrie’s charac- 
teristic of late years. She passed her fingers caress- 
ingly through his short, crisp hair. 

Of course in his professional capacity Dr. Preston 
wished to know all about her illness, but Carrie de- 
clared he should not talk shop to her, and that con- 
sulting physicians addressed the regular doctor and 
nurse, So Lawrence gave her the home news — al] 


236 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

but the arrangement about the speedy marriage, 
which, he scarcely knew why, he did not care to talk 
about then. 

“Now, Lawrence,” Carrie said, before he went 
down to tea, “I want you to do me a favor. Mrs. 
Eustace, our clergyman’s wife, is coming to sit with 
me for an hour, and I want you to take Irene out — 
to make her go and get a breath of air.” 

Dr. Preston smiled. “ Irene is scarcely the per- 
son to be made to do anything.” 

“ Irene is just the person to be made. Do as I 
tell you.” 

Lawrence still demurred. “I hope Mrs. Eustace 
is not like Mrs. Tolivar,” he said. 

“ Mrs. Eustace is an angel,” said Carrie, emphati- 
cally. “ In person she is just a frank, pleasant girl, 
but she has the courage of a heroine and the soul of 
a saint. Wait till you know her.” 

“ I hope she is not unequally yoked with a Tolivar.” 

“Wait till you see them both. Mind, I don’t ad- 
mit that Mr. Tolivar is not a good man because he 
has a doughy face and indigestion. But such as he 
is, don’t blame the Church for him. You might as 
well blame the Presbyterians for Margaret.” 

“ I am not sure that I don’t.” 

“ Then you are very unjust. Get Nan on the 
subject of her uncle and aunt, and then you will be- 
lieve what Mr. Leslie used to say, that Margaret must 
be a changeling.” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


237 


“But about this Eustace?” 

“Wait till you see him. I won’t say another 
word.” 

So, Minerva coming with the invalid’s tray, Law- 
rence went down-, his heart beating faster than ever 
at the thought of a tete-d-tete tea. He wondered if 
Uncle Zeke would wait in his driving costume, or if 
they had other servants. 

There was to be no tete-a-tete , at any rate. A 
young lady whom he would have taken for a school- 
girl was already in the dining-room — no other than 
the clergyman’s wife. 

Lawrence thought the massive silver and rare 
china of former meals would scarcely have improved 
the simple board. Everything was of the plainest, 
but nothing was unrefined. Minerva had done her 
best with the chicken and waffles, and “ ’lowed Marse 
Lawrence had neber eaten no better;” Irene had 
seen to the coffee ; and Mrs. Eustace, with the utmost 
nonchalance, sallied out from time to time for hot 
supplies. Then there was a mass of delicate wood 
violets in a border of moss, and the clergyman’s wife 
was bright and entertaining, and Irene pleased to 
see her guests taking to each other. Altogether, Law- 
rence thought he had rarely enjoyed a banquet so 
much. 

“ Now, Dr. Preston,” said Mrs. Eustace, as they left 
the dining-room, “I am to be nurse for the next 
hour, and I hope you will persuade Mrs. le Moine 
16 


238 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

to go out, if it is only for ten minutes; she has 
never crossed the threshold since she came, six weeks 
ago;” and Mrs. Eustace ran up-stairs. 

“I hope you will go,” said the doctor; “ Carrie is 
so anxious about you.” 

“ Unnecessarily,” said Irene. “I never even have 
a headache. But I will go with you, certainly. A 
solitary walk through desolate Beauvoir might fright- 
en you away. I need not ask where you would like 
to go,” she added, with a melancholy smile. “ Lawn 
and garden and grove — all are alike now.” 


CHAPTER XXY. 


“ Did you ever , 55 asked Irene, “ read the story of 
the man without a country? The unfortunate was 
an American who, having in a rash moment express- 
ed the wish that he might never hear his country’s 
name, was punished by having his wish fulfilled. He 
was placed on a man-of-war going on a long cruise, 
and from that, as it neared home, exchanged to a 
second, and from a second to a third, and so on till 
he died. And the officers of each, though treating 
him with perfect courtesy, were forbidden to men- 
tion America or the slightest item of American news 
in his hearing. Of course love of country became a 
passion with him. I think he must have died of a 
broken heart, though the story does not say so . 55 

“ It seems to me , 55 Lawrence said, “ that the pun- 
ishment was out of all proportion to the offence . 55 

“ Yes, we will hope it is only a story. But do you 
know, I almost envy the man without a country. I 
am not sure that it would not be better to be out 
of sight and hearing of all that mine has to endure . 55 

Lawrence felt embarrassed. It seemed disingenu- 
ous to let her limited application of the word coun- 


240 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


try pass ; and yet he sympathized with her as nev- 
er before. 

“ Ah !” said Irene, reading his thoughts, “you think 
I will be angry if you differ from me. We are no 
longer children, and I can believe that people bet- 
ter and wiser than I, and quite as sincere, may differ 
from me.” 

“ And believe me,” said Lawrence, “ I never fully 
appreciated till the last two days how, setting out 
with the idea that the first step was right, one would 
find it impossible to forgive all the ruin and des- 
olation.” 

“Do you think so? And yet this is peace. We 
have wrongs to remember harder than any humil- 
aitions they can heap upon us to-day. I wonder what 
you would have thought of all that was done in 
Columbia?” 

“ In Columbia !” exclaimed Lawrence. “ You were 
not there? They never could have been so mad, so 
wicked as to let you stay !” 

“I was there,” said Irene, quietly, “and no one 
was mad or wicked. My husband was far away. 
Relations and friends did their utmost to induce me 
to leave. My aunt refused to go, and of course I 
remained.” 

“ It was selfish of her to permit it,” said Lawrence, 
indignantly. 

“ It was not selfish of her to permit it,” Irene said, 
in the same quiet tone. “ She was suffering from an 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


241 


incurable disease. She knew it would be death to 
her to go, and it could not be more than death to 
stay. Faithful Minerva was with her, and she ex- 
hausted herself in entreaties and commands for me 
to leave her.” 

“ And you would not?” 

“ No, I would not,” said Irene, a flash of the old 
fire in her eye. Then, regaining her calm, she went 
on to tell the story of the taking of the city; of 
making her way with her aunt to headquarters to 
ask for a guard ; of the horrors of those first terrible 
nights and days when, unable to believe in the hon- 
or of Northern soldiers, they sat through the weary 
hours, inwardly terrified but outwardly unmoved ; 
of the return afterwards to ruined Beauvoir, when 
starvation at last stared them in the face. 

“ Starvation !” cried Lawrence — “ starvation ! It 
cannot be that you have ever been hungry?” 

“ Many a time. Believe me it is not so hard — for 
one’s self, that is ; it was bitter to see my aunt suffer. 
One morning, after existing for days on a little corn- 
meal, we had literally nothing with which to break 
our fast. As night drew on, we gave ourselves up 
for lost. We were so weak, we had sat for hours 
motionless. Now and then my dear aunt put out her 
hand and feebly stroked mine ; it almost broke my 
heart. Minerva was not with ns at the time; and 
when suddenly a loud knock came to the door, I could 
scarcely get up to open it. A negro stood there 


243 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

with a large bag of flour on liis back— -flour, mind, 
which we had not seen for many a day. ‘For Miss 
Irene,’ he said, and vanished. I always call him the 
Black AngeL” 

“And where was Uncle Zeke?” Lawrence man- 
aged to ask. “ I am glad he at least has been faith- 
ful.” 

“ Faithful ! Hundreds of them would have been 
that. We had to force them away; we would not 
let them stay and starve. Uncle Zeke remained till 
Minerva taunted him with taking the bite out of 
Miss Irene’s mouth — then he went.” 

“But he is with you now?” 

“Uncle Zeke? Why, he drives the omnibus in 
which you came.” 

“ Oh, I thought — ” 

“I see,” said Irene, smiling. “He has thought it 
for the credit of the family to play coachman still. 
Did he say the coach was under repairs, or what?” 

“ He was far above that and Lawrence laughed 
at the recollection. “ He spoke of the omnibus as 
the kerridge. 

“ Why, who is that ?” he continued. “ He is dress- 
ed as a clergyman, yet looks every inch a soldier.” 

“ He is both ; or, rather, he was the one and is the 
other. It is Mr. Eustace.” And Irene, introducing 
the clergyman, they all walked into the house to- 
gether. Mr. Eustace had been colonel of a Virginia 
regiment, and had served on General Hotspur Fitz- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


243 


hugh’s staff. He had adored his chief, and was de- 
lighted to meet his cousins. 

“ Ah !” said the clergyman, as Irene left them, 
“ there is a mission unfulfilled. Mrs. le Moine was 
born to be a hero’s wife. If she had only married 
Hotspur !” 

Hotspur, indeed ! Lawrence could not echo the 
wish. Hotspur’s fame had been won in his absence, 
and he was apt to forget it. However, though dis- 
approving of the clergyman’s thought, he did him 
the justice to think he looked not unlike a hero him- 
self, and wondered if he did not find his new profes- 
sion strangely unsuited to him. He was judging, as 
so many people do, that a man who was every inch a 
soldier was in his element in material warfare, while 
any puny creature would do to cope with the world, 
the flesh, and the devil. 

The Eustaces left almost at once, and Lawrence 
went back to his sister. Carrie insisted on Irene’s 
remaining also. How cheery, thought Lawrence, 
even the large, bare room looked, with a bright fire 
and two such women as Night and Morning. The 
invalid’s blue gave a touch of color, so did the flow- 
ers on a table at her side. Carrie declared herself 
almost well, and Irene testified to her increasing ap- 
petite. And yet Lawrence looked anxiously at her. 
She was so gentle, so affectionate: could it be the 
association with Irene? or was she worse than they 
feared ? He felt her pulse anxiously, and listened to 


244 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


the beating of her heart. Carrie laughed, and said 
he was quite like a lover, but that it was very nice. 
Yery nice Lawrence thought it all when he had sat- 
isfied himself about Carrie. His thoughts ran riot 
even when he w T as talking decorously. He began 
to build castles in the air, as was Nan’s wont, but 
checked himself. Irene was but a six weeks’ wid- 
ow. He was a man of honor, and Nan was his be- 
trothed. 

But something his sister said set his heart wildly 
beating again. Irene had left the room ; and when 
Lawrence, after watching her out of sight, turned to 
Carrie, he found her steadily regarding him. She 
drew his head down to hers, and whispered in his 
ear, 

“ Trust a woman for reading a woman. Irene is 
one of those who love but once; and the one love of 
her life is — Lawrence Preston.” 

And refusing to hear a word in reply, she kissed 
her brother and dismissed him for the night. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


Lawrence went to his room, but not to sleep. 
He prided himself on being a thoroughly practical 
person, who looked at stern facts and indulged in 
no fancies. But he had not always been so, and to- 
night the hands on the dial of time seemed to have 
moved backward. 

Carrie’s words haunted him, and yet he did not 
believe them. No; Irene had been kind, friendly, 
cordial, but had thought no more of the old passages 
in their life than if she had just landed from some 
far-off star. 

And he himself — did he still love her? or could 
he still love her, supposing he were free ? — which, he 
reminded himself sternly, he was not. Would not 
any one have felt as he did, listening to that quiet 
recital of suffering so patiently borne? He must 
have seemed cold, unsympathetic — brutally so, he 
said to himself ; for he had had to fight down with 
a will of iron the feeling that was almost overmaster- 
ing him. The tender, delicate woman, the queen 
of society at home, the guest of princes abroad, had 
been hungry — not once, but many times. Law- 


246 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


rence caught his breath, and rose and paced the 
room. 

Oh, if he could but have clasped her to his heart, 
and blotted out by a lifetime of devotion the very 
memory of those terrible days ! But the beautiful 
eyes which once had looked at him so lovingly had 
turned to him with such utter unconsciousness of 
any possible embarrassment or recollection. He re- 
membered her words, “We are no longer children.” 
Ah ! that was it. Her love for him had been but a 
girlish fancy, which it could not give her even the 
slightest uneasiness to recall. He had always won- 
dered at her choice of him ; she had explained it. 
He did not suppose for a moment that she had loved 
the General, although she had doubtless* when she 
married him, hoped that love would come. Then 
her heart must still be free. Suppose he were to try 
again. But then, there was Nan. 

What a tangle he had made of it all ! Nan was 
not in love with him, and yet he had made her prom- 
ise to marry him. If he had only left the matter 
66 in statu quo” 

Then he began to think of Nan. What a quaint 
way she had of putting things ! What a dear girl she 
was if left to herself, or at least taken away from Mar- 
garet’s influence ! And how different she had seemed 
that last day — almost as if she really cared ! He re- 
membered the note, took it out and looked at it, and 
wondered, as he put it back, if he would remember 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


247 


to look at it before leaving. From Nan he went 
back to Irene again, and from Irene to Nan. But 
when at last he fell asleep, it was to dream of Irene 
only. 

Sometimes he was back with her in the Beauvoir 
of old ; sometimes he was listening to her story again ; 
sometimes he was reproducing the scenes of the tak- 
ing of the city. One picture seemed to impress it- 
self upon him with awful distinctness. 

He dreamed that Irene had gone in search of a 
guard while he had gone in search of Irene. He 
wandered up and down the silent and deserted 
streets, visible only by that ghostly light common 
in dreams. He heard the sound of voices and the 
crash of arms, but faintly, as at a great distance; 
and though he was constantly moving in their di- 
rection, they seemed as constantly to recede. Sud- 
denly there was a crash and a blaze, and by the 
glare of a burning house he could see the parties 
struggling; then all was dark and silent as before. 
Again and again came the crash and the blaze, 
each time lasting longer, till the whole city seemed 
wrapped in flames. And then he heard his name 
called by Irene in piercing tones of anguish, “ Law - 
rence! Lawrence! Lawrence !” 

The cry awoke him. Merciful heavens ! was the 
dream, then, true ? The room was light as day, and 
filled with stifling smoke. To dress himself partly 
was the work of an instant. Opening the door, he 


248 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


found his passage barred by volumes of flame and 
smoke. He heard the piercing cry of his dream, 
“Lawrence! Lawrence! Lawrence /” 

In the horrors of the reality Lawrence recovered 
his self-possession. In an instant he recollected that 
the wing in which Carrie and Irene were could be 
reached most speedily by another door. He sprang 
to the window ; it did not open at once. He dashed 
the sash out, and was through it in a moment. It 
was the wing that was on fire, and Irene stood at a 
window, looking as if she were framed in flames. 
It might be that they were behind her, and if so, 
would he reach her in time ? It might be only their 
reflection. Not a human being was near, but there 
were voices in the distance. 

The windows were high; the verandas of other 
days had disappeared ; there was no ladder, or any- 
thing that might serve for one. Fortunately it takes 
less time to act than to describe action. “Cour- 
age !” Lawrence cried to those above. “ I will be 
with you in a moment!” Would he be able to 
keep his word ? 

Crash went another sash, and he was in the thick 
of it. Well it was for them all that he knew Beau- 
voir as thoroughly as Preston Place. He reached 
the room at last. Irene was on the floor support- 
ing Carrie. “ Quick !” she said, placing her in Dr. 
Preston’s arms. “ She has fainted. I will follow 
you.” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


249 


“Not for worlds!” said the doctor. “ Remain close 
to the window till I come again. Remember !” 

While he spoke he had wrapped his sister in a 
blanket and was off. His intention had been to 
take both and make a bold dash through the flames, 
but now he had to fight his way with this dead 
weight. The flames scorched him. And up there 
was that other waiting. He reached the foot of the 
stairs at last, almost threw his sister into the arms 
of some one who was hurrying forward, and rushed 
into the flames. Irene was at the window. She 
was quite calm now. “Lawrence,” she said, earnest- 
ly, as he approached, “you cannot save both. Leave 
me, I beseech you, and save yourself!” And she 
smiled bravely. 

He took her in his arms. “ Oh, my darling !” he 
said, almost with a sob, “ I don’t know whether I 
can save you, but I can die with you at any rate.” 

But for the clergyman Lawrence would indeed 
have died with and for Irene. By the time Mr. 
Eustace reached Beauvoir there were about a dozen 
negroes on the scene — weeping and wailing and 
giving contradictory accounts of where the ladies 
were, and what was being done. It was to him 
Lawrence had handed his sister. To place Miss 
Preston in his wife’s care, single out as aid a stal- 
wart young negro who only needed direction, seize 
the wet blankets which Mrs. Eustace, with admira- 
ble presence of mind, had been providing, and turn 


250 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


back into the mansion-house, was with the clergy- 
man the work of an instant. In five minutes they 
were back with their unconscious burdens. They 
had reached them only in time. 

Mrs. Eustace saw her husband rush back into the 
flames, then turned to her charge. She had already 
quieted the negroes, had Minerva roused from her 
room near Lawrence’s, and had ordered out the mat- 
tresses from Lawrence’s bed. When her husband 
came back, she said to herself, “ Thank God !” That 
was all. And Mrs. Eustace was a bride of two 
months. I do not know what the Southern women 
of to-day are, but those of war times were the brav- 
est in the world. 

“Dr. Monteith,” Mrs. Eustace called to a gentle- 
man who had just appeared, “come and look at Miss 
Preston. I never knew a fainting fit last so long.” 

Dr. Monteith stooped down and scrutinized his 
patient, then stepped hurriedly to the clergyman. 
“ Call your wife away, Eustace,” he said, “and keep 
her busy. Miss Preston no longer needs her care.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


Irene, in her capacity of nurse, had occupied a 
sofa in her guest’s room on the fatal night. Like 
Lawrence, she had been reproducing in her dreams 
the horrors of war times, when she awoke to find all 
that was left of the once ancient home of the Ham- 
iltons in a blaze. It was with difficulty she could 
take in at first what was occurring, and only by a 
supreme effort that she could overcome the giddy, 
suffocating sensation sufficiently to rouse herself, 
gain the window, and then try to awaken Miss Pres- 
ton. Finding Carrie still unconscious, she had taken 
her to the window and done her utmost to restore 
her, not dreaming that it was even then too late. 
And so one was taken and the other left. 

“ One shall be taken and the other left.” That 
was the refrain that rung in Lawrence’s ears and 
heart as, accompanied by the kind clergyman, he 
took his sad journey northward. He had intended 
bringing his sister home. He was bringing her 
home, but not as he had intended. The sister had 
been taken and the brother left. 

Upon none, after Dr. Preston, did the tidings come 


252 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


more crushingly than upon Nan. It was but the 
second time that death had taken one dear to her; 
and the first time, though a dearer had been taken, 
6he had not seen, but only missed, her aunt. Now, 
for the first time in her life, she had to look upon 
the dead. She remembered how, just before her 
visit to Baltimore, Mrs. Benjamin had been express- 
ing surprise that she had never seen a dead person. 
Rouge-dragon had extraordinary views on death as 
on life. She thought there was a moral cowardice 
in not familiarizing ourselves with what we must all 
come to. Death was the consequence of sin, and to 
hesitate to look upon its effects argued a want of ac- 
quiescence in the will of God. When Mrs. Benja- 
min left, Carrie had expressed herself strongly in 
regard to her, remarking that the younger Benja- 
mins spent their Sundays in going to three Sunday- 
schools and looking at dead bodies. And now here 
were those very ghouls coming to condole, and ask- 
ing if they might look at “the remains.” Could it 
be that Carrie had lost not only life but identity, and 
was spoken of simply as “ the remains !” 

Nan stole into the darkened room with Lawrence. 
She had heard every one say Miss Preston looked 
so “ natural,” and she expected to see her as one in a 
deep sleep. Natural ! There were indeed no out- 
ward signs of decay, but it was the shadow, the 
shrunken shadow, of her friend. But for Lawrence 
she would have turned and fled. The weird feeling 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


253 


of those lonely days in the Manse came back to her, 
and now there was no Tory to cheer her. Margaret 
jarred upon her more than ever. Phyllis came to 
her with loud lamentations. 46 Oh, Miss Nan, I done 
tole things about her to Miss Ma’g’t, an 5 I lub her 
ole shoes bettah nor ebry bit ob Miss Ma’g’t’s whole 
body.” Phyllis’s was not the only reproachful con- 
science. Nan was learning how the same hand that 
effaces also revives and intensifies. Carrie’s failings 
vanished, and her own became crimes. 

When six months had passed since the funeral 
Dr. Preston came to Nan again. He confessed that 
he was restless, that he found it impossible to settle 
down to the old life, and he asked her to marry him 
at once very quietly, and to go abroad as they had 
intended. 

Nan was in great trouble. In her real sorrow for 
Carrie she had for a time forgotten everything else; 
and it was not till Margaret spoke to her about the 
marriage that she remembered the two hundred dol- 
lars she owed Carrie. When she allowed Margaret 
to think that matters were the other way — that Carrie 
had money of hers in her keeping — she had intended 
to take Miss Preston into her confidence and tell 
her the real state of the case. But Nan’s good in- 
tentions were apt to remain good intentions. She 
would not write, she decided ; it would be much ea- 
sier to explain face to face. In reality it would have 
been much more difficult ; it was only an excuse for 
17 


254 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


delay. Meantime she went on as she had done — • 
writing large orders to Baltimore, buying anything 
she happened to see, until she not only did not know 
how much she had become liable for, but had not 
the courage to set herself to find out. 

And then she had a double trouble now — a sore 
heart, as well as an uneasy conscience; for at last 
she loved Lawrence. She did not know whether it 
was her love itself, or only the consciousness of her 
love, that had begun on the day of the telegram ; 
she only knew that she had loved him ever since. 
And day and night she was pondering the question, 
Should she marry him, or should she not? 

At last she went to Margaret, and in despair told 
her of the two hundred dollars. Why, having cour- 
age to do that, she did not tell the whole, Heaven 
knows. Her confessions were apt to lose all merit 
as confessions through not being full. 

Now it happened that Margaret was already per- 
fectly aware of the true state of the case as regarded 
the transactions with Miss Preston. Nan’s manner 
had made her suspect something, and in looking over 
Carrie’s memorandum-book she had come upon the 
two items charged to Nan ; for Miss Preston, though 
rich, was not above being methodical. 

Of course Margaret professed to be properly 
shocked at the extravagance first, and then at the 
dissimulation. It was only when she found Nan’s 
remorse might possibly carry her to inconvenient 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


255 


lengths that she proposed letting bj-gones be by- 
gones. She did not wish to mar her happiness at 
such a time, etc., and she was sure Nan would nev- 
er forget how she, Margaret, had stood her friend. 
And then Nan did the one brave and self-sacrificing 
act of her life, and she did it in such a way as to 
render it irrevocable. She wrote a note to Dr. Pres- 
ton, releasing him, and saying she had positively 
decided not to marry him. She reminded him that 
she had only entered into the engagement at his 
earnest entreaty, and that she had done so loving 
him as a friend and brother, but not at all as one 
should love a husband. But of the real love that 
had entered her heart since, she said not one word. 

Dr. Preston was deeply hurt. Since the night of 
the fire his mind had dwelt but little on love; and 
the moment he found thoughts of Irene coming 
back again, he determined to end all temptation to 
disloyalty by an immediate marriage. And this was 
to be the end of it. 

“ So you are like all the rest,” he said to Nan, 
more wearily than bitterly. “ Affection goes for 
nothing compared with the triumph of declining 
it.” 

“ Poor Nan ! She knew she was making Marga- 
ret her bitter enemy, and involving herself in inextri- 
cable troubles, all for love of Lawrence and Irene. 
And here she was passing in the opinion of the per- 
son she cared most for in the world as a heartless 


256 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


jilt. Had Carrie lived, the sacrifice would not have 
been so terrible (she had felt that Carrie did not care 
for the marriage, though she had always been kind), 
but now she was dooming herself to remain alone 
with Margaret. She hastily decided she would be 
an authoress without delay, or she would teach — any- 
thing not to remain when they were gone. All these 
sad thoughts and plans bewildered her, and made 
her seem to Lawrence cold and indifferent. 

44 Well,” said the doctor at last, 44 it shall be as you 
wish.” And he turned to go. 

“ Stop, Lawrence,” cried Han, choking back her 
tears. “ Will you mind telling Margaret?” 

“All! I see,” with a bitter smile. 44 It was to 
please her you engaged yourself. I will make it all 
right. 

“But,”said Nan, determined not to break down, 
44 there is something else. I owed Carrie (here a tear 
would fall) two hundred dollars, and here it is.” 

Na:i had brought her last two hundred. 

La^ 'rence saw the tear and softened. 44 Oh, child,” 
he sa d , 44 you can dismiss me without that, surely. 
Lister to me,” he went on, earnestly, as Nan still tried 
to pin the notes into his hand. 44 Had Carrie lived 
to make a will, you would have shared with me all 
she h id. I know it, because she told me so, and I 
shall carry out her wishes. So, you see, my dear 
Nan, he money is honestly your own.” 

44 Lid she really — ” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


257 


“ She did really propose what I have said. Now 
I am off to see Margaret at once.” 

Nan listened to the receding footsteps, then threw 
herself upon the floor. “ And I called her Ninon,” 
she sobbed, “and laughed at her with Margaret. 
Oh, Carrie, Carrie !” 

She had learned before that the dead do not come 
back ; she learned now that they cannot speak their 
forgiveness, though we seek it carefully and with 
tears. 

When Dr. Preston had left the house Mrs. O’Neil 
came upon Nan — not in fire, but ice. 

“ You are determined to abide by your decision?” 
she asked. 

“ Yes,” said Nan. 

“ Not knowing what the consequences may be?” 

“Yes.” 

“So be it,” said Margaret. “As you have made 
your bed, so you will lie on it.” And Margaret went. 

At tea Nan heard more than one piece of news. 
Mr. O’Neil had had some weeks before a call to Hali- 
fax, and he had just decided — that is, Margar< t had 
just decided — to accept it. And she had so d< cided 
because Dr. Preston had told her Preston Plac e was 
to be sold. The doctor was to sail for France on 
the following week, and one of the Fitzhughs would 
manage everything. Dr. Preston was not present 
when this news was told. 

Nan trie ; d to be friendly with Margaret, she felt 


258 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

so desolate. She began to speak of Halifax; she 
thought she would like, she said, to go North. Mar- 
garet smiled a strange smile, but said nothing. 

The last few days of Dr. Preston’s stay Nan scarce- 
ly saw him. There was at the last a hurried good- 
by, in which she quite broke down ; and while she 
was breaking her heart at home, Mr. O’Neil and 
Margaret saw Dr. Preston off. Lawrence bad dealt 
generously with them ; and besides, as I have already 
said, Margaret always considered contingencies. 

When Dr. Preston had said good-by he hesitated, 
then turned again to Mrs. O’Neil. “ Be good to 
Nan,” he said. 

“Good to Nan!” echoed Mrs. O’Neil. “I verily 
believe Lawrence thinks I beat her.” (This smil- 
ingly to her husband.) 

Dr. Preston deprecated such a thought. 

“Well,” Margaret said, “I will relieve your mind 
by a bit of news which you would have heard be- 
fore, only that you have been so occupied. Nan is 
going to her mother.” 

“ Her mother !” Has Mercedes Guzman actually 
been found ?” 

“ Mercedes Guzman has actually been found. So 
you can imagine Nan realizing her dreams of Muril- 
lo’s Madonna among the orange-groves of Florida.” 

“ And her address 2” 

“ I cannot give it exactly, but she will send it.” 

“ And her letters will be forwarded ?” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


259 


“ Oh, of course.” 

“ My dear,” said Mr. O’Neil, as they went home, 
“ have you not decided rather hastily about Nan’s 
going ?” 

“ My dear Hugh, when I give you the history of 
the idleness and extravagance of the last few months, 
and of the deceit practised upon me, I think you will 
say it is true kindness to let her rough it a little.” 

u But we know nothing of her mother.” 

“We know that she is perfectly respectable. In- 
deed, my mind is quite made up to do my duty in 
the matter; so there is no use saying another word.” 

So Mr. O’Neil felt. Lawrence, meantime, think- 
ing of the change for Nan, had said to himself more 
than once, “ Thank God !” And then he added, “ I 
think Nan might have told me.” 

By the time Mrs. O’Neil had ignored Nan for a 
week the latter might have been glad to go any- 
where. Yet when Margaret told her news as icily 
as she had spoken ever since Lawrence left, Nan was 
not glad. She liked Willoughby; she had made 
hosts of friends there, and she knew nothing about 
this unknown mother who was claiming her. The 
wish for mother-love that had once filled her heart 
had given place to another feeling. Nan wanted to 
stay where everybody knew Lawrence. And then, 
though Margaret was so cold and hard now, she had 
once been kind, and she was a part of her old happy 
life in the Manse and a link with the grave across 


260 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

the sea. Nan thought she could not go. She went 
to Margaret and asked to be allowed to stay. Mar- 
garet curtly told her that the matter was settled. 
Then Nan asked if she might board somewhere in 
Willoughby, and teach or write. Mrs. O’Neil asked 
her if she knew any one who would trust her with 
their children after the extravagance and deceit of 
the last few months. Nan thought, from the men- 
tion of deceit, that Mrs. O’Neil had found out about 
the orders in Baltimore, and she felt there was reason 
to be angry with her. Lastly, Nan asked if she might 
go back to Scotland. 

“To Scotland! Have you any one there to offer 
you a home ?” , 

Nan stammered out something about the Manse. 
Margaret sneeringly asked if her father had such a 
fondness for the spendthrift and the liar and the 
robber of the dead as to make her think he would 
receive her back. When Nan, objecting to be called 
a robber of the dead, related how she had told the 
story of the money to Dr. Preston, Mrs. O’Neil de- 
clared she did not believe her, and she called her 
an unnatural daughter for not wishing to go to her 
mother. 

When Nan saw it was all up with her, she made 
up her mind to make the best of it ; so it speedily 
became known in Willoughby that Nan was going 
to relatives in Florida. Margaret would not let her 
say what relative. “ They would think her a strange 


Captain Macdonalds daughter. 


26i 


mother,” she said, “who would let her daughter be 
nearly twenty years in the world without ever asking 
if she was alive or not.” 

But before Nan went she did something worse 
than all. The Baltimore people becoming pressing, 
she borrowed a leaf from her father’s experience, and 
executed and forwarded an I 0 U. Not being very 
sure what she owed them, and wishing to prove her- 
self a generous patron, she named an amount nearly 
double that of her real debt. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


A long, fatiguing journey brought Nan to the 
town nearest her mother’s home. Most people would 
have hesitated before sending one of her age so far 
alone ; but Mrs. O’Neil pronounced Nan “ sharp 
enough to look out for herself.” Margaret had writ- 
ten to announce her arrival, and Nan’s heart throbbed 
fast at the thought of the meeting; but as the train 
ran up to the small station she could see no lady or 
white woman of any kind, and there was no car- 
riage in waiting. What should she do ? Fortunately, 
they had reached the place early in the day. 

Nan asked a rough but kindly looking man how 
far it was to Bliff’s Corners. 

“Bliff’s Corners?” said the man. “I calc’late you 
mean Starkses.” 

Nan started. Mrs. Stark, Margaret had told her, 
was the name of Mercedes Guzman. It had troubled 
her all the journey. She had always hated the name 
of Stark ; and then to think of it for her own mother! 
She had kept trying it over. Mercedes Stark — Mer- 
cedes Guzman Stark — Mercedes Stark, nee Guzman. 
She did not like it. And now here was this man 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


263 


asking if she meant Starkses. Could that be the 
same ? 

“I am going to Mrs. Stark’s at Bliff’s Corners,” 
said Nan. “ Can you tell me how far it is?” 

“ Wall, it’ll be fourteen mile, or maybe nigher onto 
fifteen, I calc’late.” 

“ Oil !” exclaimed Nan. “ I thought,” she added, 
seeing the man looked interested, “they would have 
sent the carriage for me.” 

The man stared. “What in thunder?” he asked. 

“ The carriage,” said Nan. She began to wonder 
if the roads were impassable. 

“ Je-Aflsaphat !” said the man, and supplemented it 
by whistling a bar or two of “ Dixie.” 

Nan, indignant, turned and walked away. She was 
tired, and half afraid and wholly homesick. What 
kind of mother could Mercedes Guzman be to let 
her child’s home-coming be like this ? Tears rose to 
her eyes, but she would not let them fall. 

“Look a’ hyar,” said the man, following her, “I 
didn’t go fur to skeer you, I didn’t. I ain’t one o’ 
your women-men with store pants an’ paper collars 
an’ gaiter boots, 1 ain’t. But I’ve a gal o’ my own 
out thar” (and he described with his hand a generous 
semicircle), “an’ I’m darned if I don’t do the squar’ 
thing by any man’s gal.” And a great brown paw 
seized the bag Nan was carrying, while its owner 
went on to say that at the little hotel which he point- 
ed out Nan could have a rest, a “snack,” and a con- 


£64 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

veyance; and, further, that he would introduce her 
as a friend of his, and if the landlord did not “do the 
squar’ thing by her” (which seemed to be the speak- 
er’s way of expressing the Golden Rule), he, her cham- 
pion, would know the reason why. And the stranger 
pointed significantly to a great bowie-knife which 
hung from his belt. 

The gesture was blood-thirsty, but the champion 
smiled good-naturedly at her, and Nan was reassured. 
The man, now that he stood upright, looked little less 
than a giant, but a giant not of the cannibal species. 
Nan wondered what her Willoughby friends would 
say to his dress. A pair of homespun trousers met 
a rough flannel shirt above, and were tucked at the 
knees into the largest pair of boots Nan had ever seen. 
An undressed leather band served as knife-belt and 
saved suspenders. The face seemed as brown as the 
hands ; but, owing to the forest of tawny hair on head 
and face, the only features visible were the eyes and 
nose. A great slouched wide-awake completed the 
costume. 

Nan had almost to run to keep up with the enor- 
mous strides. The stranger was as good as his word ; 
better, for he took her checks and brought in her lug- 
gage on his brawny shoulders — even Carrie’s great 
Saratoga trunk, which had been responsible en route 
for a good deal of swearing, seemed to trouble him 
little more than the hand-bag. Nan was astonished 
to see how obsequious the landlord, who was quite a 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


265 


civilized person by comparison, seemed to be to the 
giant. 

“Now that’s tol’able,” said the latter, smiling and 
rubbing his hands as he brought in the last article. 
“ There’ll be a half-hour for the snack, and a half- 
hour for a rest on that ar’ settee; and at twelve 
sharp” (eying the landlord severely) “the kerridge’ll 
be at the door.” 

The landlord promised that it would. 

The giant was leaving the room, when a sudden 
thought seemed to strike him. 

“Dunno how ’tis whar you come from,” he said 
to Nan, smiling again, “ but out our way ” (here the 
semicircle was repeated) “ the man that made out to 
keep a hotel would hev to make out to keep a pian- 
ny.” And he glanced superciliously at the landlord. 

At two sharp the “ kerridge ” — of a variety Nan 
had never seen before — was at the door. It was 
something between a buggy and a sulky, but with- 
out springs. One box only could go with them ; the 
others were to follow. The driver was a boy, to 
whom the giant was giving a word of advice. 

“ There hev been accidents on that ar’ road, Sam- 
u-el.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Samuel. 

“ Yes, sir,” repeated the giant. “ You ain’t nowise 
afeard uv hevin’ a accident on this trip, air you, 
Sam-u-el ?” 

“ No, sir.” 


266 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


44 No, sir,” repeated the giant. “I am mighty 
glad at that, Sam-u-el, on your account. The driver 
that hez a accident between hyar and Starkses — 
this trip — will never make another.” , 

Nan started. It was a fearful threat, and the 
giant’s hand was on the bowie-knife; but he was 
speaking mildly and meditatively, and seemed to be 
addressing the horizon. 

Nan put out her hand. 44 Good-by,” she said, cor- 
dially/ 4 and I thank you so much for your kindness.” 

The brown paw seized the proffered hand, and sol- 
emnly shook it up and down in pump-handle style, 
while the giant smiled again. 44 You hev no call,” 
he said. 44 1 calc’late to do the squar’ thing — I do.” 
And suddenly opening the paw, he let Nan’s arm 
drop as if it had fallen from the sky. 

Nan felt the heat painfully, but was glad to be 
on the road again. For the first time almost since 
Margaret had announced her departure she allowed 
herself to think. Margaret’s icy manner had not en- 
couraged conversation, and Nan had felt the aliena- 
tion far too deeply to ask many questions. To those 
about the Florida home she had received the curt 
answer that she would know when she got there; 
and when she falteringly expressed surprise that her 
mother had not written to her, Margaret observed 
that perhaps Captain MacDonald’s wife was not so 
ready with her pen as he had been. Nan had shed 
many tears in her room at night, but in the daytime 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


267 


she had driven away thought by constant going 
about, and, as usual, she had overcome the pain of 
what actually was by fancies of what she hoped 
would be; so that by the time she left Willough- 
by she had arranged three distinct futures, any one 
of which was sufficient to give her courage for the 
parting: She would come back to Willoughby and 
live, winning fame meantime as an authoress; or 
she would come back and be a nun with Mother 
Frangoise; or her mother would turn out she all 
had formerly dreamed, and her Willoughby friends 
should visit the Guzman paradise. 

As the railway journey progressed the last idea 
had chiefly taken possession of her. She had been 
counting up her mother’s probable age, and that, 
coupled with some knowledge of her wrongs, had 
led her to abandon the Murillo “ Madonna” and 
substitute a “ Mater Dolorosa.” Yes, the face would 
be pale but sweet, the dark eyes dim with the tears 
that had been shed. Nan had wondered if the Eng- 
lish would be very broken ; and when she looked 
out from the train she expected to see some one in 
a Spanish mantilla. The name Stark had been the 
only bitter drop in the cup then. 

But now, what she had seen and heard had filled 
her with vague misgivings. The giant’s kindness, 
she instinctively felt, had not been given as to a 
superior. He had simply been “ doing the squar’ 
thing by any other man’s gal.” 


268 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

Nan began to question the driver. He knew 
Starkses, but not Mrs. Stark. He had rarely been 
in that direction before, and had not been accounta- 
ble for the accidents to which the giant had referred, 
so he could tell her literally nothing. Thus, in al- 
ternations of hope and fear, she completed three- 
fourths of her journey. But when they entered on 
the last stage Nan’s heart sank; and when at length 
they reached the district known as Starkses, it died 
within her. The boy asked her if she would mind 
holding the “lines” till he asked at “ that ar house.” 
Nan volunteered to go and ask herself. 

Over sandy soil, baking under the tropical sun, to 
a poor house, so near a sluggishly oozing pestilential 
stream that one might sit at the door and shoot alli- 
gators at his ease, Nan took her weary way. A woman 
in a furniture chintz dress of outlandish color and 
pattern was standing in the door-way, one hand rest- 
ing on her side, the other shading her eyes as she 
regarded Nan. As the latter approached, the per- 
son bade her good-day pleasantly. Nan returned the 
greeting. 

“ Can you tell me,” said Nan, “ where Mrs. Stark 

lives?” 

“Oh,” said the woman, still kindly, but without 
any show of feeling, “ ’tain’t Annie MacDonald, is it ?” 

“Yes,” said Nan, not quite sure whether or not 
to suggest a prefix to the name, but feeling relieved 
that the country had heard of her coming. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


269 


“Oil,” said the woman again, now just a little 
flurried, “ come right in and sit down ; you must 
be tired.” And, to Nan’s astonishment, she shook 
hands before bringing forward a chair. Then go- 
ing to the door, she gave a shrill “ Hi !” and a wave 
of the hand that brought boy and “ kerridge.” 

Nan attempted to remonstrate. “But I think I 
must be going on to Mrs. Stark’s.” 

“ Bless you, this is Starkses ! I’m Mrs. Stark. You 
must be clean beat with the long ride in the cars and 
the buggy. I’ll get supper right off.” 

Nan did not faint, or tear her hair, or weep. She 
sat dazed, scarcely understanding. She saw as in a 
dream the supper “got.” She sat down to it with 
Mrs. Stark and the driver, who had meantime joined 
them. The cups were china — common, but evidently 
brought out for the occasion ; there was a little sil- 
ver cream -jug, empty. The meal consisted of tea 
without milk, fried bacon, and biscuits yellow with 
soda. Mrs. Stark was kindly pressing; the boy was 
shy. Nan made a desperate effort to be cheerful and 
to eat, telling herself over and over again that she 
need not stay. But the tears so long kept back 
would come at last. She left the table, went out at 
the back door, and seating herself on a stool outside, 
face to face with the muddy stream, burst into a pas- 
sion of weeping. 

“By the rivers of Babylon , there we sat down / 
yea , we wejpt when we remembered thee , 0 Zion” 

18 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Unlike as Mrs. Stark was to the Mercedes Guz- 
man of Nan’s dream, there was nothing vulgar about 
her. She had the look of one who had borne much 
— not heroically, but patiently, as a dumb animal 
might have borne it. If she had fallen from high 
estate, she bore no traces of her former condition ; 
thousands of poor, hard-working people are not vul- 
gar. Nor had she the slightest resemblance to the 
Spaniard of Nan’s dreams, being rather fair than 
dark, and with almost a hectic color in her cheeks. 
Her figure was rather tall and slender, but bent. In 
age she might be a year or two past forty. 

The house consisted of one large room, with two 
smaller ones partitioned off, and a little shed that 
held the cooking-stove. The best of the two smaller 
rooms was given to Nan. Like the sitting-room, it 
had a homespun carpet and rough board walls cov- 
ered with a cheap paper. There was a bed that, like 
the silver cream- jug, seemed a relic, a pine table with 
a dressing-glass, and a large chest with a cover of the 
same awful chintz Mrs. Stark wore ; a painted wash- 
stand, with coarse white basin and ewer, and a large 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


271 


piece of kitchen soap in a saucer ; no wardrobe, or 
chest of drawers, or press. It was more luxurious 
than the nun’s cell Nan had thought of occupying, 
and it was a palace compared with many a place 
where saints have voluntarily spent long lives. But 
Nan did not stop to think of that. She compared it 
with her room at Preston Place, and loathed it. 

By the time the driver had left, and Mrs. Stark was 
free to attend to her again, Nan’s spirits had some- 
what revived. Youth is slow to believe a situation 
hopeless, and Nan had already persuaded herself that 
hers was not. So she brightened up, and began to 
speak of her coming as just a visit, and was quite 
cheered when she discovered that Mrs. Stark regard- 
ed it in the same light. Margaret, she decided, had 
only wished to frighten her, and was not so bad as 
she had seemed. 

She was chatting away quite pleasantly when a 
step was heard. “ There’s Jim,” said Mrs. Stark. 
Nan looked up, expecting to see man or boy, and 
was surprised when a tall, stout, sheepish-looking girl 
entered. “ Come on, Jim,” Mrs. Stark said, encour- 
agingly ; “ this is Annie MacDonald.” Nan saw she 
was expected to shake hands, and did so, without in 
the least knowing who Jim was. This ceremony 
over, Jim handed Mrs. Stark some money, and in 
reply to a question said that the “ pants ” had given 
satisfaction. Then Nan, pleading weariness, retired 
to her room, her mother going in with her to light 


272 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER 


the solitary tallow-candle that made everything look 
doubly dismal. Mrs. Stark shook hands with her, 
and hoped she would sleep well, and Nan, moved by 
an impulse more of pity than affection, kissed her. 
Mrs. Stark received the kiss kindly, but without the 
slightest emotion. 

In the course of next day’s conversation Nan 
learned something about her mother’s past and pres- 
ent. Mrs. Stark evidently had nothing to conceal. 
Her life with the departed Stark (Margaret had not 
even told Nan that he was departed) had been the 
common, uneventful life of most of her class. Jim, 
or Jemima, was her daughter by the second marriage, 
and consequently Nan’s half-sister. Jemima Stark ! 
Nan could remember how she and Tory — discussing 
names for their children, as they were fond of doing 
— had placed Jemima at the very head of their Index 
Expurgatorius . What would Tory say now ? Mrs. 
Stark and Jim lived alone on the few acres Stark 
had left them, supporting themselves by sewing. 
Nan had noticed a sewing-machine and a great pile 
of homespun, and this explained it. Her mother 
was a tailoress ! 

It is wonderful how quietly we can accept facts 
when we know them to be facts. For herself Nan 
at once got rid of her uneasiness by fixing a fort- 
night as the limit of her stay. The problem that 
puzzled her most was, how a selfish, mercenary man, 
to whom worldly position had been the very breath 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


273 


of his nostrils, had ever married the person before 
her. 

She took courage at last to ask about her father. 
Mrs. Stark spoke of him without hesitation and with- 
out bitterness. The Guzmans were Spanish, but the 
migration to Florida had been in her grandfather’s 
time; even her father had been born in America. 
She related frankly the history of the land. Her 
grandfather, a man of means — who had been “ some- 
body ” in his own country, she believed — had bought 
an immense tract, but some defect in the title had 
led to a long lawsuit, decided at first in their favor. 
It was at this time of brief prosperity that Captain 
MacDonald, travelling with a brother-officer, had met 
and married her. Almost immediately after the mar- 
riage the decision had been reversed on appeal, and 
the Guzmans were penniless, though most people 
thought unjustly so. “Then,” said Mrs. Stark, qui- 
etly, referring to the gallant captain, and passing 
over for his daughter’s sake some incidents that 
had preceded his going — “ then he went.” The air 
of passive, uncomplaining endurance impressed Nan 
more strongly than before. 

Between Mrs. Stark and Jim it was evident that a 
deep though undemonstrative affection existed. Jim 
was as strong as a horse, and as ungainly and good- 
natured as a large puppy. Nan imagined, from her 
appearance, that she must be very near her own age, 
but found she was only sixteen. Jim conceived for 


274 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


her new sister an intense admiration, and became at 
once her willing slave. Both mother and daughter 
treated Nan not as a member of the family, but as a 
guest for whom they must do everything possible. 
How many sacrifices they made in providing even 
the indifferent comfort she found with them, Nan 
was long in finding out. 

The guest spent the greater part of her first day 
in writing letters, and she became excitedly eager to 
receive replies. The village of Bliff’s Corners was 
four miles away, and Jim trudged joyfully the eight 
miles daily till she was rewarded by finding a foreign 
letter which had been forwarded from Willoughby. 
Nan was delighted to hear from Tory, but could not 
account for Margaret’s silence. 

It is not Tory’s history I am chronicling, but poor 
Nan’s; but inasmuch as I have referred to certain 
little faults in the former, it is but just to say that 
these had long ago disappeared, and that Tory was 
now not only the beauty of Strathlowrie, but was 
declared by everybody who knew her “as guid as 
she was bonnie,” and “her mither’s verra sel’ come 
back again.” Young as she was, she could set a 
dozen offers against Nan’s two; and in finally set- 
tling the matter she had certainly set aside any 
promptings of ambition, and let true love choose for 
her. The young minister had not been the lucky 
man after all, however. The winner of the prize 
was no other than our old friend, Archie Campbell, 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


275 


now admitted with Colin to a share in his father’s 
business; and as there was no reason for delay, the 
marriage was to take place on Tory’s eighteenth 
birthday. To knit still more strongly the tie be- 
tween the Leslies and the Campbells, Sophy had just 
sailed for India to marry Rob. 

This important news was duly made known to 
Nan in the letter brought by Jim. Of course when 
it was written they had not known at the Manse of 
Nan’s change of plans, so that Tory was anticipating 
her coming in all her glory. “I don’t know what 
Mr. Preston,” she wrote, “ will think of our poor lit- 
tle Manse. But as papa always says, we cannot do 
more than give our best and a hearty welcome.” 
Oh, if Nan could only fly to Tory that very moment ! 
She began to wonder if it had been worth while to 
make such a sacrifice. 

She wondered more as the days passed on and no 
letter came from Margaret. She received a long, 
beautiful letter from Mother Frangoise, and a long, 
rambling one from Mrs. Benjamin. The latter, who 
had been like all the St. Mark’s people, greatly taken 
with Mr. Eustace during his short stay in Willough- 
by, was canvassing among the congregation to get 
Mr. Tolivar elected assistant bishop, so as to have 
Mr. Eustace as rector. Mrs. Ben jamin reasoned thus : 
“ Mr. Tolivar will never go without something better 
than Willoughby; no other congregation will ever 
call him ; and as bishop he will only be able to inflict 


276 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


a small portion of himself on each of us.” Sound 
reasonings! And yet Dr. Preston had said, “ Who 
can find a logical woman ?” 

The fortnight fixed by Nan as the limit of her 
stay passed away, and yet there was no letter from 
Margaret ; nor, though Nan had replied to the two 
Willoughby letters at once, did either Mother Fran- 
goise or Mrs. Benjamin write again. Mrs. Stark was 
sure the post-office was responsible, and related vari- 
ous losses of which she happened to know. But Nan 
grew more and more uneasy. She did not know 
what had happened, but she had a vague apprehen- 
sion of coming misfortune. 

The blow fell at last — in the form of a letter from 
Mr. O’Neil, who explained that he wrote at the re- 
quest of his wife, she being too deeply shocked to 
write herself. The Baltimore people had sent in 
their accounts, and had returned the I O U, demand- 
ing their money. Mr. O’Neil had refused to pay, 
being, as he said, neither legally nor morally bound 
to deprive his wife of the necessaries of life in order 
to minister to the extravagance and want of principle 
of an ungrateful girl. The conclusion of the whole 
matter was, that they washed their hands of her, and 
had written a full account of her doings to the Manse. 
A postscript added that the affair had leaked out, su 
that all Willoughby knew she had left in disgrace. 
Mr. O’Neil suggested that she should proceed forth- 
with to make herself useful to her mother. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 277 

When Nan was able to think, she knew full well 
whose the inspiration had been, and that Mr. O’Neil’s 
share in the letter had only been the copying of it. 
But the blow was terrible. That Margaret should not 
think well of her was but a secondary consideration ; 
she did not think well of Margaret ; and Mr. O’Neil’s 
opinions were copied, like his sermons and letters, 
from his wife’s. But “ all Willoughby knew she had 
left in disgrace” — Mother Frangoise in her convent, 
Mrs. Benjamin in her canvassing (Nan could hear the 
latter giving her version of the affair, and the young 
Benjamins constantly interrupting her with their 
“What, ma?s?”), and all the Fitzhughs in the pleas- 
ant places where she had laughed and danced and 
dreamed. And then those people in Baltimore — 
Mr. O’Neil had vaguely hinted they might “take 
stern measures.” What did this mean ? Would they 
put her in prison ? She was not sure that even that 
would be worse than the fate Margaret had marked 
out for her — to begin forthwith to help her mother. 
Did they, could they, know her mother’s position ? 
Not long ago they dwelt much on her thorough edu- 
cation, and landed her abilities; and now they pro- 
posed she should be a tailoress ! — for that was what 
helping her mother would mean. Nan wandered 
out to think it over, but found nothing in nature to 
give courage or inspiration. The sky glared fiercely 
down upon her, the parched earth looked up to her, 
the slimy yellow stream stared her in the face. She 


278 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

fled from it all, and taking refuge in her little room, 
asked that she might die. Disgrace behind her, a 
sordid life of labor before her, death seemed a thou- 
sand times better than life. She cried aloud, as Irene 
had done in her hour of need, “ Lawrence ! Law- 
rence !” but to her, less fortunate than Irene, no an- 
swer came. 

She told her mother, when at last she emerged 
with swollen eyes and tear-stained face from her lit- 
tle room, that Margaret had quarrelled with her; and 
Mrs. Stark and Jim sympathized with her, and were 
indignant at Mrs. O’Neil. Then there was a little 
whispering between mother and daughter, resulting 
in Jim’s trudging off with a pile of work and coming 
home radiant, three hours after, with some delicacies 
— the like of which had never been seen within the 
little house before. The good, kind, simple pair pre- 
pared a meal that seemed to them luxurious; and 
entreating Nan to cheer up, they sweetened their 
own coarse fare — for nothing could induce them to 
partake of hers — by watching her eat. Nan ate, but 
even while doing so wept the more. To profit by 
their kindness when she was counting the moments 
till she could turn her back upon them w r as unen- 
durable; yet that w r as what she was doing. 

And now began for her a weary time. Of course 
she planned ; and if she had only steadily kept to 
any one of the plans something might have come of 
it. Mrs. Stark, seeing her restlessness and unhappi- 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


279 


ness, took a step that surprised Nan when she knew 
it. She wrote to Mrs. O’Neil asking what Nan had 
done to deserve such neglect. The reply came in 
Mr. O’Neil’s name, and it fully set forth Nan’s de- 
linquencies, only omitting the chief one — that she 
had not married Dr. Preston. 

Nan was indignant, but also a little awed, when 
Mrs. Stark showed her the letter, and expressed the 
opinion that the O’Neils had reason to be angry. 
She did not claim the right to censure, but with a 
dignity of which Nan had not supposed her capa- 
ble, she declared wilful debt just another name for 
dishonesty. But Jim, for the first time in her life, 
turned against her mother. She was sure Nan had 
done nothing wrong, and she hated the O’Neils. 
Mrs. Stark said no more, but she remembered how 
some trustful people had believed in Captain Mac- 
Donald to the last. Had Nan only told the whole 
story at first it would have been implicitly believed ; 
but having set out by deceiving, as her father had 
done before her, she was doubted even when she 
spoke the truth. 

The weeks rolled on, and Nan had no more pros- 
pect of getting away than she had in the beginning. 
Long fits of weeping, and longer fits of utter hope- 
lessness, alternated with fitful gleams of cheerfulness. 
Mother and daughter did not relax in their kindness. 
If Mrs. Stark’s manner was a little colder after the 
disclosure, it soon became as before; while Jim 


280 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


would lay down at any moment the work on which 
their daily bread depended to run for Nan’s hat or 
book, or to button her boots. Nan was not absolute- 
ly idle, but the fitful industry did no one any good. 
She sent verses several times to the country paper, 
and Mrs. Stark and Jim could scarcely believe their 
eyes when they saw them in print. She made pretty 
trifles, and presented them graciously to her enter- 
tainers. She sketched a little and painted a little, and 
her adoring Jim sat up at night to earn money for 
some cheap frames. Occasionally a neighbor — that is, 
some one living a mile or more away — would come 
and “ stop supper.” One or two were of Mrs. Stark’s 
class, one or two others a good deal above it, as far as 
wealth was concerned ; not one of them was so nat- 
urally refined. They all treated Nan with the great- 
est deference, and pressed upon her invitations to 
“ spend the day.” Sometimes rough men called 
with orders for “ Mis’ Stark,” who seemed to be a 
favorite with everybody. Nan could not bear to see 
any of them — men or women. She would leave the 
room and the house and sit outside, straining her 
eyes in every direction in a vague hope that help 
would be coming. She had written long letters to 
her uncle and Tor} 7 , giving her side of the story, and 
begging her uncle’s forgiveness ; and she entreated 
to be allowed to go back to Scotland, and in earnest 
work live down her utter failure and her great un- 
happiness. But it never once came into her head to 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


281 


do the slightest little services for herself, much less 
for Mrs. Stark and Jim. 

The Feast of All Saints — a bitter anniversary now 
to Nan — had come and gone, and still there was no 
letter. November and December passed, and Nan’s 
punishment seemed greater than she could bear. 
The poor little efforts at making Christmas cheer 
were worse to her than if the day had been allowed 
to pass without mention. The presents that Mrs. 
Stark and Jim had made such sacrifices to buy were 
such as Nan would not have thought of giving 
Phyllis. Their kindness cut her to the heart. She 
wanted to be away from the sordid life, and almost 
equally she wanted to be away from the pain of see- 
ing their sacrifices lavished on one who was deter- 
mined not to return their affection. Sometimes her 
old happy nature would flash out, and for an hour 
or two she would keep her mother and sister amused 
and delighted. Sometimes she was moody and un- 
gracious; always she went about with a load at her 
heart ; and if by chance she kept it off during the 
day, she was sure to wake up with a start to find 
that it had settled down upon her in the darkness. 
Then the pain at her heart seemed to mount into 
her head, until she could no longer see clearly. The 
beautiful fancies that she had once called to her at 
pleasure came no more. And thus the winter passed 
away. 

Nan did not know much about illness, but she felt 


282 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

that if her life went on as it was doing she would 
die in good earnest. She proposed to Mrs. Stark 
that she should go to Bliff’s Corners and try to get 
pupils. Mrs. Stark was not unwilling; not that she 
wished to get rid of her, but that she thought it 
would be better for Nan herself. An itinerant 
preacher who knew Mrs. Stark recommended “ Sis- 
ter Pearson ” as a “ woman of God ” and a taker of 
boarders at small cost, and offered to call and arrange 
matters with them. And these preliminaries being 
settled, Nan set off, bag and baggage, in an ox-cart, 
getting out and walking as she neared the village. 
Bliff’s Corners seemed a great improvement on the 
solitary little house by the alligator stream. It had 
a passable hotel, where visitors from the North often 
stayed en route ; so that it seemed to Nan in the line 
of escape, if not escape itself. As things turned out, 
however, it was escape. On the second day of her 
stay in it she was passing the hotel just as the omni- 
bus had put down the new arrivals from the South. 
A lady was giving some directions to a porter. Nan 
started as she saw her, for though her back was 
turned, something about the figure struck her as 
strangely familiar. The lady turned and saw Nan, 
then uttered a little scream of astonishment. “It 
cannot be our Jacobite!” she said, as she came quick- 
ly forward with the smile Nan remembered so well, 
and stretched out both her hands. 

Nan tried to smile in return, but Irene and the 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


283 


other passengers seemed whirling round with horses 
and omnibus and all BlifFs Corners. Then she felt 
an utter giving way of every sense and power, and 
thought it must be death; and then for the time be- 
ing she knew no more. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


The grandest thing about the house at which Mrs. 
Le Moine and her friends had arrived was the name. 
It might have been the Alligator Arms, or the Croc- 
odile Inn; it was the Hotel Continental . The trav- 
ellers had laughed when they saw the imposing sign 
on the little house. But when Nan, recovering from 
her faint, found herself on a sofa in the best bed- 
room, the lovely face of Irene looking anxiously into 
hers, she would not have thought it out of place if it 
had been called the Hotel Paradise . 

“Now,” said Irene, when satisfied that Nan was 
really better, “ from what part of the earth have you 
come? or have you fallen from heaven?” 

“It is you wdio have fallen from heaven,” said 
Nan, wistfully. Oh ! was it not heaven to be once 
more with a bit of the old life, with all its dainty 
ways and sweet refinement? Nan had been in the 
height of her brief prosperity when last she saw this 
beautiful and gracious woman, yet she had in a mo- 
ment wished to lay her heart at her feet. What 
must she feel now when, like an angel of deliver- 
ance, she had suddenly appeared before her, making 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


285 


the long, sad months of her exile but as a bad dream? 
Nan used to be so sick of the odor of homespun ; 
here was the faint breath of violets which Lawrence 
had told her always lingered about Irene. Surely 
God must have put it in her heart, she thought, to 
arrive at Bliff’s Corners just as Irene was coming. 
Suppose she had still been at “ Starkses 55 and missed 
her! Suppose she had not been passing at that very 
moment ! She remembered Miss Macalaster’s “ Evan- 
geline,” and said with all her soul a little thanks- 
giving. 

Yet scarcely were the words said when she pro- 
ceeded to manufacture fresh troubles for herself. 
They spoke of Carrie first, and both were overcome. 
And then Irene told that she had sold her estate, and 
that a school or asylum for the children of negro 
soldiers was to be built on it. After the burning of 
the mansion she had not cared to retain the place, 
and she should never live in her native State again ; 
but surely, she said, it must be Nemesis herself who 
had presided at the sale, and handed over the estate 
of the Hamiltons to the negroes. The sum paid, how- 
ever, had been considerable, and, added to a little be- 
quest lately received, was quite sufficient to render 
teaching no longer necessary. 

“ And now,” said Irene, as she finished, “ will you 
tell me your story ?” 

Nan told her story, but with such reservations that 
it did not seem at all the story I have been telling 
19 


286 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

the reader. Margaret had quarrelled with her, she 
said, after Carrie’s death and Lawrence’s leaving, 
and to punish her for having mismanaged her mon- 
ey-matters, had sent her off to Florida to some rela- 
tions she had never before seen ; and Nan had found 
it impossible to stay, and had got so far on the way 
back again. Nan did not say that the relations had 
ill-treated her; but as she gave no other cause for 
leaving them, she left it to be understood that they 
had. 

Oh, Nan, Nan ! And Mrs. Stark and Jim are at 
the very same moment sewing away as if for dear 
life, and talking of the little basket of good things 
the money will buy for you. And even, long hours 
after, when Jim declares her mother “ played out,” 
and forces her to go to bed, she still sits stitching 
away for love of you ; and when at last she lays the 
homespun down, she takes out, just before she goes 
to bed, the old newspapers that are her greatest treas- 
ure, and reads your verses over, her plain face all 
beautified with love ; and in her simple prayer she 
mentions your name ; and when at last she lies down 
beside her mother, she says, “ I do hope her bed’s soft.” 
Dear, honest Jim! her own bed was not very soft; 
but in her sweet humility and unselfishness she never 
thought of soft things being for her. 

Irene listened to Nan’s story with great indigna- 
tion against Margaret. In the six weeks Carrie had 
spent with her before her death the friends had often 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


287 


spoken of Nan. Oarrie had told all the simple story 
of the Manse as Nan had told it to her, and had de- 
clared that she quite agreed with the minister as to 
Margaret being a changeling ; so that Irene was pre- 
pared not only to love Nan — as she had said in Bal- 
timore — but to dislike Margaret. So she embraced 
and soothed Nan, and advised her to have nothing 
more to do with Mrs. O’Neil. “ Why don’t you go 
back to your uncle, dear?” she asked. 

“ Oh, if I only could !” said Nan. It was what she 
had set her heart upon doing. She knew from the 
silence he must be angry at her, but she was sure 
that if she could once reach him he was too just to 
deny her a hearing — and then there would be Tory 
to intercede. 

“ Listen to me,” said Irene, kindly. “In three 
days I leave this for New York, on my way to Eng- 
land. Now could you have a better chance of com- 
pany ?” 

“ I could not have a chance of better company,” 
said Nan, amending it. How pleasant it was to fall 
into the old courteous w r ays ! She had not troubled 
herself to say courteous things to Mrs. Stark and 
Jim. 

“ Ah,” said Irene, “ what a lover you would have 
made ! Do you remember the white roses ? They 
are in one of my trunks at this moment. I have 
kept them for the sake of your Lost Cause and mine,” 

Nan was flattered indeed. 


288 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


“ Now,” said Irene, “ I know no roundabout ways, 
so I am coming to the point with you as directly as I 
would with dear Carrie. You cannot have money 
for such a journey at a moment’s notice. Let me be 
your banker for Carrie’s sake; and when you get 
safely to your uncle you shall repay me.” 

Would that Nan had known no roundabout ways! 
Had she only told the true story, to begin with, her 
difficulties would have been virtually at an end. 
With a foolish girl’s weak judgment she had fan- 
cied that to do so would alienate the proud South 
Carolinian forever ; whereas, if she had searched the 
whole world over, she could not have found a human 
being whom she might more safely trust. Irene was 
no democrat. She would have thought the position 
of the newly found mother a misfortune — a great 
misfortune — but she would have decided at once 
that as Nan had been brought up amid entirely dif- 
ferent surroundings, ignorant even of her mother’s 
existence, and as the mother had another daughter, 
and was therefore entirely independent of Nan, it 
would be happier for both that they should live apart. 
She was strongly prejudiced in favor of good birth, 
but she would have acknowledged that Nan was as 
refined as though the Guzmans had really been Span- 
ish grandees ; and she would have thought it a cruel 
and a shameful thing to send Nan off, as Margaret 
had done, utterly unprepared for what she was to 
meet. And so, instead of scorning her, as Nan had 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


289 


feared, she would have been her truest friend and 
champion. But Nan had chosen what she thought 
the easy rather than the right way. She had not yet 
learned that the right way is always the easiest — in 
the end. 

She decided in the same way about the money. 
She had long ago come to the conclusion that Law- 
rence knew of her disgrace, and that he, too, had for- 
saken her, and would no longer think of carrying 
out his sister’s intentions. And then suppose her 
uncle should decline to refund the money? If he 
refused to forgive her, it was not probable he would 
be willing to pay for her coming back. But Nan 
resolutely put the ifs away. She could always, she 
decided, fall back upon her writing. She had read of 
the sums George Eliot received, and at once decid- 
ed that one novel (which she would proceed to write 
at once) would, if other sources failed, more than 
cover all expenses. 

And so Nan, with many expressions of gratitude, 
accepted the generous proposal. And Irene, pitying 
the pale face, so sadly changed since first she saw it, 
added to her kindness by going with Miss Brown, 
her travelling companion, to “Sister Pearson’s” for 
the three days, as there was not a disengaged room 
at the Hotel Continental for Nan. 

Not till Nan was going to bed did she have time 
to think of Mrs. Stark and Jim. Nan had promised 
to go and see them on the very day it was now settled 


290 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


she was to leave for the North. She would not write, 
she decided, till just before she left. 

So just about the time Jim, full of pride and af- 
fection, was reading her verses, Nan was thinking of 
Jim and her mother. And what she was thinking 
was, “ Well, thank God, that is over . 55 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


In the little house by the muddy stream there was 
such excitement as had probably never been before. 
The two good creatures were planning a pleasant 
surprise. Mrs. Stark was going to Bliff’s Corners to 
see her daughter. 

Not that either of them deemed that seeing Mrs. 
Stark would be the pleasure. They were far too 
humble for that, though far too simple also to take 
into consideration that it might be quite the reverse. 
By dint of working early and late they had got to- 
gether a little sum to be expended on Nan’s behalf, 
and Mrs. Stark was going to the village to fill and 
present a basket. They were but poor cooks ; but 
between them they had concocted a cake, so as to 
take “ something from home.” The initiated, putting 
together its small size and great weight, would not 
have augured well of its digestible properties ; but 
Mrs. Stark and Jim were, happily, ignorant of spe- 
cific gravity, and when they had plastered it over 
with a thick coat of indifferent u icing” they were 
more than pleased. “My!” said Jim, “ain’t this 
high jinks 2” 


292 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

The cake achieved, the next business was to make 
Mrs. Stark’s appearance in some degree worthy of 
Nan; so another dress - pattern was cut from the 
terrible chintz (the whole piece had been bought from 
a pedler at a nominal cost), and Mrs. Stark cut and 
basted, and Jim “ran” the machine. So it came to 
pass that the day before that settled for Nan’s leav- 
ing for the North her mother set out to see her. Jim 
walked part of the way, and sent a thousand mes- 
sages and one request — would Nan let her know if 
she wrote any more “ pieces ?” 

Jim went back to the little house to make up by 
doubly hard work for the mother’s holiday, and Mrs. 
Stark walked on alone. The heat was trying; the 
ground barren and burning; the “filled ’’shawl, which 
Jim had insisted on her wearing to make a better 
impression, exhausting ; the ridiculous little cotton 
parasol insufficient for shade ; the traveller not very 
strong. What of that ? The patient woman took the 
weary way, as she had taken the longer and wearier 
way of life, as a matter of course, and achieved it 
step by step. 

After all, she was surprised when it was so soon 
over. For the past few days she had been in a 
strange flutter of excitement, and this morning she 
was going over the story of twenty-one years before. 

With the humility natural to her, she had said as 
little of herself as possible in the short sketch she 
had given of Captain MacDonald’s relations with 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


293 


her. In the better days of the Guzmans she had 
been sent to a boarding-school in St. Augustine, so 
that at the time Captain MacDonald met her she was 
b} 7 no means a barbarian. But little the captain 
cared what she was. With the land, he would have 
married her had she been a Hottentot ; without it, 
he would have left her had she been Yen us and Mi- 
nerva combined. When her baby was born she had 
loved it ; when it was taken from her she had mourned 
it; and when she was told it was dead, she had wept 
for it — as all good mothers love and mourn and weep. 
But that seemed to her such ages ago ! Since then 
she had lived her life of obscurity, of poverty, and 
toil ; trying to do her duty to God and man ; loving, 
in her undemonstrative way, her second husband and 
her second child. When she first heard of Nan’s 
existence, she could not believe it; when Mrs. O’Neil 
gave her indubitable proof, she was more pained than 
pleased ; when she heard of Nan’s coming, she bore 
it as she had borne everything else. What could the 
daughter of Captain MacDonald, brought up among 
her father’s race, have in common with the mother 
whom he had brutally ill-treated and abandoned? 
Why should they disturb her quiet by seeking to as- 
sociate her with events almost forgotten ? The wife, 
the mother of long ago, was dead ; she could not live 
again. 

But Nan had the power of making friends at will, 
or even without willing ; and so, when she left the 


294 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


little house, the two who remained were not as they 
had been. Each no longer sufficed for the other. 
First the mother, and then the daughter, would lay 
down the homespun and slip into the little room 
that had been Nan’s, or go to the door and look 
towards BlifPs Corners, dimly hoping she might find 
it “ lonesome ” and come back. God pity them ! 
They will wait long, long for that. 

Then Jim originated the idea of the surprise-bas- 
ket; and with such an object they found it easy to 
keep steadily at work, only they moved the sewing- 
machine to the other window, so that without wast- 
ing time they could see any one coming. 

And now Mrs. Stark, hot and tired, but eager, is 
bearing the heavy basket to Sister Pearson’s. It is 
no longer Annie MacDonald she is going to see. 
The mother’s heart has risen from the dead, as it 
seemed to her. She is going to meet her child. 

Nan was sitting at the window of Irene’s room, 
chatting away most cheerily, when she saw a strange- 
looking figure coming down the street. She was just 
about to call her friend’s attention to the “ guy,” 
when something about it struck her as familiar. 
Nan looked, and could not believe her eyes ; looked 
again, and knew the dress — red cabbage-roses on a 
sickly-green ground. It was Mrs. Stark ! 

Nan flew down-stairs. “ Sister Pearson ” did not 
keep a servant, and at that time of day was always 
engaged in her kitchen. The front door opened di- 


Captain Macdonald’s daughter. 


295 


rectly into the little parlor. Nan carefully closed 
the doors leading to the back of the house and opened 
the porch door. 

Mrs. Stark saw her, and her face was transfigured. 
Not that she meant to be demonstrative in spite of 
the newly awakened love. She knew the difference, 
she had kept saying over and over to herself. She 
only wanted that the princess should stretch out her 
sceptre and touch the poor woman’s offering; but 
the light went out of her eyes when she saw the 
princess’s irresponsive face. 

“ Good-morning,” said Nan, coldly. 

Two bright spots began to burn in the thin cheeks. 
Mrs. Stark was faint with the walk, and the shop- 
ping, and the load. Nan saw it all, but even while 
she was pitiful was ruthless. 

Mrs. Stark held out her basket. It was some little 
things, she said, that she and Jim had got for her. 
Nan explained hastily that she had met an old friend, 
an intimate friend of the Prestons, with whom she 
was going away to Scotland, to her uncle Leslie. 
She rather let it be understood that the lady had 
come on purpose for her. 

The bright spots faded, and the face grew very 
white. But the basket was again offered. There 
was a cake, Mrs. Stark said, made every bit by them- 
selves. Nan declined it nervously, saying she would 
not know what to do with it, now that she was with 
her friends. 


296 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

A little silence. “Then I suppose we won’t see 
you again ?” 

Nan said she supposed not ; there was not time ; 
but she would write. 

“ Well, good-by,” said Mrs. Stark, trying to smile. 

“ Good-by,” said Nan. They shook hands. 

“Oh!” said Mrs. Stark, turning again as she was 
going, and speaking witli a great effort, “ would you 
mind sending a word to Jim ?” 

“Oh, to be sure,” said Nan; “give her my love, 
and tell her I will write. Good-by.” 

When the door had closed, the weary woman, 
whiter than before, set down her basket for a mo- 
ment, and leaning against the porch pressed her hand 
to her heart. Then with a great patience she took up 
her load again, and trudging back the four long miles, 
entered the little house just as busy Jim was saying 
to herself, “ She’ll be hevin’ a cup o’ good tea.” 

“ Oh, mother, what is it ?” cried the girl, as she 
saw Mrs. Stark’s face. “ Is she ill ? Is she dead ?” 

“No, Jim, no. She’s well. But we’ll never see 
her again. She’s going away with some of her grand 
friends, and she wouldn’t take the basket. She’s 
Captain MacDonald’s daughter, after all.” 

That was the only reproach ever spoken by Mrs. 
Stark — of Nan, at least. Poor Jim understood. She 
prepared in silence the much-needed cup of tea ; and 
then, the homespun neglected for once, the two sat 
hand-in-hand, and cried quietly. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


297 


But when Jim had wept herself to sleep that night 
Mrs. Stark, wakeful, notwithstanding her weariness, 
rose from beside her, and out of the fulness of her 
heart indited a letter to Mrs. O’Neil. She spoke not 
a word against Nan for leaving her, but she blamed 
Mrs. O’Neil for sending her when she must have 
known she could not be happy with them. “It was 
cruel to her,” wrote the poor woman, “ and cruel— 
cruel to Jim and me.” 

And after that it was as if there had been a death 
in the little house ; only we speak of the dead, while 
Mrs. Stark and Jim never spoke of Nan. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


Irene’s friend, Miss Brown, was one of that large 
class of American single ladies who travel to im- 
prove their minds. You will know them anywhere 
by their linen portfolios and Russia - leather note- 
books and diaries; and you will observe that the 
moment they see a new sight or hear a new fact, 
they note it down. 

Miss Brown was always writing letters or taking 
notes, so that Nan had Irene almost to herself. The 
beautiful Southerner excited much attention and re- 
mark. Fabulous tales were told of her former glory, 
and the report generally received was that she was 
going abroad to “ marry a title.” Many on board, 
learning that her first year of widowhood was over, 
were disposed to enter the lists with the unknown 
“ title but Irene’s reserve, and very apparent wish 
for seclusion, left no opening for anything beyond 
finding her deck-chair and arranging her cushions 
and rug. Nan was jealous if any one but herself 
did even that. 

She was glad now she had made the sacrifice — for 
Lawrence’s sake and for Irene’s. The two would 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


299 


meet, of course ; all would be right at last ; and it 
would be a consolation to know of their happiness, 
even if she never saw them again. 

And yet Nan almost wished the voyage might 
last forever. Irene cared for her — as Carrie and 
Mother Frangoise and Mrs. Hotspur and others had 
cared for her. But Nan rejoiced in trembling. For 
Irene to meet Lawrence would be for her to learn 
the story of Nan’s disgrace ; and very deep disgrace 
Lawrence must think it, since he would not even 
write. And what would become of Nan then, for- 
saken by them both ? 

It was natural that Irene should not speak of Law- 
rence, but she thought it strange that Nan never 
mentioned him. She knew nothing of the engage- 
ment — when Carrie w r ent to her it had not been set- 
tled — and she naturally concluded that Nan must 
have heard her story, and was silent on her account. 

But when they arrived in England Nan had a 
more pressing uneasiness than even that about Law- 
rence. She had written to the Manse before sailing, 
telling them of her coming, and asking them to write 
to the hotel in Liverpool. So far there was not a 
word ; and after Irene had twice postponed her jour- 
ney to London on her account, Nan insisted on go- 
ing without hearing. So on a certain day she tele- 
graphed again, asking them to send a reply to the 
station at Oban, where she would have to change 
trains, and she was to leave early next morning. 


300 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Dinner was over at the hotel, and Nan was in her 
room putting the finishing touches to her boxes, 
when Irene came to the door and called out Miss 
Brown, who was helping her. Nan could hear a 
long conversation in the next room ; then Irene ap- 
peared, but transformed. Her face was pale, her 
eyes glowing, her manner icy. 

“ I wish to speak to you a moment,” she said. “I 
must explain that before I left Florida I wrote to 
Mrs. O’Neil. Heaven knows I was prompted nei- 
ther by doubt nor curiosity, but simply wished to 
express my opinion of the way she had treated one 
brought up in her father’s house, and very dear to 
my dead friend. Her reply has just been forward- 
ed.” 

The moment Irene mentioned Mrs. O’Neil Nan’s 
heart sank ; but even then she little knew what was 
coming. 

“ Do you know this writing?” asked Irene, handing 
her a sheet of cheap paper covered with ill-spelled, 
ill-written words. Nan could truthfully say she did 
not. 

Irene evidently did not believe her. “ Perhaps 
you’ will recognize the signature,” she said, coldly. 

Nan looked mechanically at the end, and saw U M. 
Stark” She did not move a muscle. The most self- 
indulgent of us can receive the death-blow in silence. 

“ Is the writer your mother ?” asked Irene. 

“Yes.” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD S DAUGHTER. 


301 


“ Was it your mother who came to the boarding- 
house that day ?” 

Nan was silent. 

“ I must insist on an answer.” 

“ Yes.” 

Irene turned and left her. 

Nan stood as if turned to stone. A maid came in 
by-and-by with hot water, and said the “lady” had 
sent her to help her; so she had to make a pretence 
of busying herself, though she declined all assist- 
ance. The lady had also sent word that her break- 
fast would be brought in at seven, and she would 
be ready to go with her to the train. Nan finished 
her packing and then sat down. 

She sat there and listened to the great clock striking 
hour after hour. She was there when they knocked 
at her door to wake her, she was there when they 
came with her breakfast. She went through the 
form of eating, then rose and put on her cloak and 
hat. “ Lor 5 , miss , 55 cried the maid, as she took the 
cloak off the bed, “you’ve never been and sat up 
the whole night !” Nan never answered. 

Miss Brown came for her presently, saw to her 
lunch-basket and her ticket, and was quite kind and 
friendly. Nan said “Yes” to all her directions, and 
when Miss Brown said “ Good-by 55 she said “ Good- 
by.” But she looked like a ghost, and spoke and 
moved as if in a dream ; so that Miss Brown went 
back and told Irene she was quite uneasy about her. 

20 


302 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

Nail reached the station where the Strathlowrie 
branch diverges from the main line in the same 
dazed state, and found she had an hour and a half to 
wait. When she asked if there was a telegram the 
man looked curiously at her, she thought, as he hand- 
ed it to her ; so that she would not open it at once, 
but took it to the waiting-room. How sweet even 
the sternest reproof would be now ! Anything, any- 
thing rather than turning away from her in contempt. 
And how glad she would be to get to bed ! Her 
head and limbs were aching, and her hands burning. 
She hoped she was not going to be ill, and give them 
trouble. Then she opened the telegram and read, 

“ There is no home for you here . 

“Eobert Leslie.” 

Nan received this final blow with the same dull 
despair with which she had seen Irene desert her. 
Mechanically she went over all that had befallen her 
step by step : Carrie’s death (what a little while it 
was since she had dreaded the grave, and now it 
seemed to her so safe and quiet !)— Margaret’s anger 
— her exile to Florida — all Willoughby hearing of 
lief disgrace — Lawrence’s silence — Irene’s contempt. 
The Manse had been her forlorn hope, and now it 
was closed against her. She was forsaken of God 
and of man. 

Poor, poor Nan ! The world is said to take us at 
our own valuation ; but sometimes the case is re- 


.CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


303 


versed, and individuals learn to take themselves at 
the world’s valuation. It was so with Nan now. 
She thought people regarded her strangely ; so they 
did, because she looked so ill. But she imagined 
they saw something criminal about her. She had 
once seen a woman who had stolen a duck led off to 
prison, and the woman’s face had haunted her. She 
wondered if hers had the same look. 

Well, there was nothing left for her but to die. 
That was what she said over and over to herself 
with growing conviction. Not that she thought for 
a moment of anything so wicked as taking her own 
life. In spite of all her faults, she still feared God 
and regarded man. She only felt that she could 
not live. She had her ticket for Strathlowrie ; she 
would like to die there. It would be night when 
they reached it; and under cover of the darkness 
she would creep into the town and pass the Manse, 
and perhaps get a last glimpse of her uncle and 
Tory. 

She opened her hand-bag, took out paper and pen- 
cil, and employed the time of waiting in writing a 
letter. She wanted one person in the world to know 
just what she had really done. She felt that she 
was getting too confused to judge of it; but she 
knew the facts, and for this once, at least, she would 
write them — without exaggeration and without ex- 
tenuation, and she enclosed her uncle’s telegram. 

She was about to enclose also her mother’s letter, 


304 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


when it occurred to her to read it. She had thought, 
from what Irene said, that Mrs. Stark must have told 
of what had occurred at “ Sister Pearson’s,” and she 
had not resented it; it had seemed to her only just. 
But when she read the poor scrawl, and comprehend- 
ed that her mother had never thought of blaming 
her — had never even told the story of how she had 
turned her from the door, but had reproached Mar- 
garet only with the useless pain she had inflicted on 
them all — then the fountains of the great deep of 
her nature were broken up, and she wept bitterly. 
She would not part with the letter, but she added a 
line to her own : “ If ever you can think kindly of 
me again, try and do something for my mother and 
Jim.” 

She addressed the letter to Lawrence at his Lon- 
don banker’s, posted it, and took her seat in the train 
for Strathlowrie. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


Irene went to London, and Mrs. Hotspur Fitz- 
hugh met her at the train. They were old friends 
and correspondents, and had been eagerly looking 
forward to the meeting. 

“And what have you done with Nan?” asked 
Mrs. Hotspur, when they had reached their hotel. 
“I should like much to see her again.” 

Irene’s face grew stern, but she hesitated to tell 
what she considered the shameful story. She could 
not pretend, however, that there was nothing to tell, 
and she would not be guilty of vague innuendo — 
besides, Mrs. Hotspur was a mutual friend — so she 
told what had occurred. 

Mrs. Hotspur looked grave. “ Are you sure, dear, 
you have not misjudged her?” 

“ How could I ?” I know what she told me about 
the distant relatives, and Miss Brown overheard the 
conversation with her mother, thinking she was one 
of them.” 

“I don’t approve of overhearing conversations, 
Irene.” 

“Nor I, Constance. But you know how absent- 
minded Miss Brown is, and the whole thing was 


306 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


over in a minute. Her room was close to the porch, 
and the window was open. She saw the poor thing 
coming, and it is more than probable she took out 
her note* book to describe her. She mentioned it to 
me, after wondering if Nan could be related to such 
a person ; and the moment I got Mrs. O’Neil’s letter 
it flashed upon me who the woman was — the more 
readily that Nan had never mentioned to me that 
she had seen any one — so I made Miss Brown go 
over the story again. She could not see them from 
where she sat, but she said the voice was pathetic 
and not unrefined. But to think Carrie should 
have believed all that “ Mercedes Guzman ” story ! 
I felt doubly angry for Carrie’s sake.” 

“ I don’t doubt, dear, that you have acted for the 
best; but it would be terrible to be unjustly harsh 
with such a nature. Lawrence was so relieved to 
hear of her being with you.” 

“ Lawrence !” cried Irene. “ Is he in London ?” 

“He only arrived to-day, and he is anxiously 
waiting to see you — to hear of Nan, of course,” 
added Mrs. Hotspur, with a smile. 

“To hear of Nan!” echoed Irene, indignantly. 
“You go on as if she had done nothing. How is 
it possible I am to answer his questions without ex- 
pressing my opinion ?” 

“Well, will you do me a favor, dear?” 

“Certainly, if I can. But you know, Constance, 
that I cannot say one thing and mean another.” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


307 


“ I think,” said Mrs. Hotspur, “ you should know 
me better than to imagine I would ask it. I simply 
beg you to say nothing of all you have told me till 
Lawrence hears from Nan or her friends.” 

“ But suppose he does not hear ?” 

“ Then it would be useless to say anything. But of 
course he will hear — if not from her, from her friends. 
He considers her a sacred trust for Carrie’s sake.” 

Irene gave the promise. 

Lawrence dined with them, and seemed, indeed, 
greatly interested in Nan. Far from forgetting her, 
or forsaking her, he had written again and again, 
and had at last asked Colonel Fitzhugh to find out 
if his letters had been duly forwarded. The colo- 
nel, on inquiring at the post-office, was told that they 
had been ; but the official never thought of explain- 
ing that by Mrs. O’Neil’s orders all letters for Nan, 
as well as for her husband and herself, were sent to 
Halifax. And so Lawrence settled in his own mind 
that in the pleasure of her new home Nan had not 
quite forgotten him, perhaps, but had not felt inter- 
ested enough to write. He was disappointed in her. 

Of Carrie’s wishes in regard to her money, and 
carrying them into effect, he had not said a word 
to Mrs. O’Neil ; else, we may be sure, Nan would 
have gone north instead of south, and my tale might 
have had a different ending. But, as the reader may 
imagine, Lawrence’s thoughts were not all of Nan. 
They spoke of Carrie, and of the night of the fire 


308 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

(Lawrence could bear to speak of it now), and Law- 
rence told the dream from which he had had such 
rude awaking. 

“ Oh ! by-the-bye,” said Irene, “ I have something 
belonging to you. When the negro asylum people 
took possession of all that was left of Beauvoir they 
found this. It must have fallen out of your pocket 
that night.” Irene handed Lawrence a note ad- 
dressed to him, but did not say how often she had 
wondered what lady had written it. 

“ Nan’s note !” exclaimed Lawrence, with sudden 
recollection. He had positively never thought of it 
from the night at Beauvoir till Irene put it into his 
hand. 

“ Nan again !” thought Irene, impatiently, never 
guessing how things had been with them once; “it 
seems to me everything is Nan.” 

But Lawrence had broken the seal, and was hastily 
reading the note. When he had finished he closed it 
slowly, and put it into his pocket without a word. 

Irene grew angry : she thought it was a righteous 
indignation at Nan’s deceptions and other people’s 
credulousness. When Mrs. Hotspur joined them 
she excused herself almost at once on the plea of 
weariness. Mrs. Hotspur, going up -stairs an hour 
or two later, went to her room, but found the door 
locked; and when, feeling sure her friend was not 
in bed, she asked if she could be of service, Irene t 
did not open the door, but replied in a voice quite 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


309 


unlike her own. And then, strange to say, Mrs* 
Hotspur smiled. 

Irene admitted her friend next morning, but said 
she should not leave her room till evening; that she 
was tired and out of sorts. Out of sorts she certainly 
was. She had probably never been so unamiable in 
her life. She was dissatisfied with everybody, her- 
self included, and she did not know exactly why. 

The dissatisfaction with herself increased when, 
late in the afternoon, Mrs. Hotspur came in, full of 
anxiety. “ My dear,” she said, “ it seems but a shab- 
by w T ay of treating you to desert you just as you 
come, but I cannot refuse this appeal. You see he 
cannot go alone.” And she handed Irene a brief 
note from Lawrence and a letter. 

“My dear Constance, — I have this moment re- 
ceived the letter I enclose, and I take to-night’s 
train for the North. I know your goodness of old, 
and so do not hesitate to ask if you will go with me 
if you can. The train leaves at eight. Kindly send 
one word by the messenger, and if you are good 
enough to go, I shall call for you in time. 

“ Hastily, but affectionately, yours, 

“Lawrence Preston.” 

That was all. I have said that Irene was not in 
an amiable mood, and her face flushed as she observed 
there was no mention of her, though Lawrence was 


BIO CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

taking her friend away at the moment of her com- 
ing. She looked up with something severe on her 
lips, but there was no one to listen to it. Mrs. Hot- 
spur was in her own room — packing, doubtless. 

So Irene read Han’s letter. She would not have 
looked at it only that she prided herself on being- 
just; but she began it with a determination not to 
believe one word of it. What fools men are! she 
thought; and Constance seemed almost as bad. 

But before she had read far she began to doubt ; 
and before she had reached the end, she said, “ God 
forgive me !” And, her stately calm all gone, she 
rushed in upon Mrs. Hotspur, crying, “ Oh, Con- 
stance ! Constance ! if anything happens to her, it 
will be my doing.” 

“Now,” said Mrs. Hotspur, “you are more unjust 
to yourself than you were before to her, for you had 
reason to doubt her; and besides, that had nothing 
to do with her going to Strathlowrie.” 

But Irene was not to be comforted. Calm Mrs. 
Hotspur thought her distress out of proportion to 
her share in the matter; for after all it was true 
that Nan had concealed the fact of her mother’s ex- 
istence, and, worst of all, that she had shut the door 
in her mother’s face. At last she said, “Why not go 
with us?” 

“ If I only might !” said Irene. “ But Lawrence 
would not like it. I don’t suppose he will ever 
speak to me again.” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


311 


“My dear, you are growing morbid. You see 
that Nan tells only her own wrong-doing. She 
merely mentions that you found out what she had 
done . 35 

“ Yes, but that cuts me to the heart. Oh, if I had 
only told Lawrence last night !” 

“Well, I cannot leave you here alone , 33 said Mrs. 
Hotspur. “ Get ready to go with us, and I will guar- 
antee Lawrence’s willingness . 33 

It was not only willingness, but pleasure and grat- 
itude, that brightened Dr. Preston’s face when he 
found Irene was going. How could she bear to 
spoil it all by telling her story? But she was not 
more lenient to herself than to others ; so, as they 
sped along through the night, she told it. 

“ Poor child !” was all Lawrence said. 

“You think I was unjust?” 

“ I think you were just, but not merciful.” 

“Can you ever forgive me?” 

Lawrence could scarcely believe his ears. Irene 
asking for his forgiveness! 

“ But I have nothing to forgive,” he said. 

“ Oh !” said Irene, impatiently, “ that is what peo- 
ple always say. It only means that they are not 
generous enough to forgive, and not candid enough 
to say so.” 

“ It does not mean that with me. When so few 
of us are just, how can one blame another for not 
being more than that ?” Lawrence spoke a little bit- 


812 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

terly. The indomitable will that had thrown back 
his love upon him long ago had lost none of its 
force, since it could so ruthlessly turn off the poor 
child that had adored her. There was a long silence, 
which might have been much longer, only that Law- 
rence, looking mechanically at the book Irene had 
taken out, saw drop upon its pages a tear. His heart 
smote him. 

“ It was natural to judge her as you did, when you 
knew her so little,' ” he said, leaning towards Irene 
and speaking low. “ I should like to show you the 
note you gave me last evening.” 

Irene would like to see the note, but would not 
say so for the world. The relations between the 
two were rather a mystery to her. 

“ I show it to you,” continued Lawrence, “ because 
I know Nan would give me permission. It was a 
wild fancy of hers, you know, but it was full of love 
and admiration for you.” 

“For me?” exclaimed Irene. 

“Yes; she was enthusiastic about you before she 
had even seen you.” 

Irene took the letter with increased curiosity. 

“ I have asked you, dear Lawrence, not to open 
this till you are on the point of leaving Beauvoir, 
because I wish you to read it when Carrie is better, 
and when you have once more met her old friend 
and yours. 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


313 


“Do you remember the beautiful day on the isl- 
and when you told your story, and I fell in love 
with your Irene — so much in love with her that 
I must have seemed ungratefully forgetful of the 
honor you were doing me, in my eagerness to arrange 
for her happiness and yours? I used to spend hours 
after that day in thinking, What if I should meet 
Irene ? 

“ And then, as you know, I did meet her, and I 
found that the half had not been told ; and since 
General le Moine’s death a great longing has come 
over me to make the story end as I planned. Car- 
rie has never said one word to me about it, but 
1 feel instinctively it is the dearest wish of her 
heart. 

“Not to hurt you, but to anticipate your generous 
scruples, I remind you of what I told you frankly 
that day — that I did not love you as one should love 
the person she is going to marry. I am just as sure 
that you are not in love with me. When you read 
this I hope you will be as glad to receive your free- 
dom as I am to give it. Make Irene happy, and let 
me be, with Carrie, 

“ Your friend and sister, 

“Nan.” 

“ I told you it was a wild fancy,” said Lawrence ; 
“you will do me the justice to believe I never shared 
it.” 


314 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


Irene was silent. 

“I am sure you do me that justice,” repeated 
Lawrence, earnestly, as it dawned upon him that his 
motive might be misconstrued. 

Still no answer. 

“Oh! you pride yourself upon your justice, aud 
yet you can think — ” 

What, Lawrence never said ; for a hand was raised 
in a deprecating gesture, and Irene, proud Irene, was 
letting fall on the long-neglected letter not one tear 
but many — partly for Nan, but oh ! partly, too, for 
herself and for the enchanted days when her story 
had been not told but lived. 

Lawrence was deeply distressed. “ Heaven knows 
I did not mean to pain you,” he said. “I only 
showed it to you for Nan’s sake.” 

“ Oh ! it is not that,” Irene managed to say ; “ and 
indeed you have not offended me.” 

Not that ! then what could it be? Lawrence glanced 
at Mrs. Hotspur. She had announced her intention 
of going to sleep at once, and she seemed to have 
accomplished her intention. He pressed the ques- 
tion ; Irene made a heroic effort to recover herself. 

“ Oh ! I was only thinking of the island,” she 
6aid. She tried to speak inconsequently, but there 
was a suspicious tremor in her tones. 

“Irene — dear Irene!” said Lawrence, drawing 
nearer, “ it is not possible you were thinking of the 
island with regret ?” 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


315 


“ What a question !” he continued, after a pause. 
“I must be getting as imaginative as poor Nan .’ 5 

“ Then so must I,” said Irene, in a low voice, but 
smiling through her tears, for — I am afraid — I 
was.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


But where was Nan while one, at least, of all her 
wonderful dreams was being realized ? 

As the train reached Strathlowrie, a dread came 
over her lest some fellow-traveller might recognize 
her. And so, in spite of the changes wrought by 
three years’ absence, it might have happened, but 
that the railway in that part of the country was but 
a recent triumph of civilization, and from motives 
of economy Strathlowrie people generally travelled 
by steamer when they travelled at all. 

The March day was longer than she, accustomed 
now to the short American twilights, had expected. 
It was a bleak gray evening, however, with promise 
of a bleak black night; so, drawing her thick veil 
more closely over her face, she ventured out of the 
station. It was almost too light for the Manse yet ; 
she went first to the old church-yard. 

With all her romantic fancies Nan had always 
had a hatred for anything sensational. There had 
come to her now dull brain, as she sped along, the 
thought of Lady Deadlock’s wanderings and the 
death upon her old lover’s grave. She did not wish 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


317 


to be like anybody in Dickens; nor did she wish 
to bring reproach upon her aunt’s memory by claim- 
ing kinship with her, even in death. She would not 
so much as pour out her love and sorrow at the 
grave, as if she were claiming from the dead, who 
had no voice to refuse her, the sympathy that had 
been denied to her by the living; she would only 
go and look at it once more, and then pass on. 

The fisher-people were mostly in their houses. A 
woman at the cottage nearest the church-yard was 
taking in some peats, but scarcely looked up as she 
passed. When she reached the high gate it was 
fastened. It was almost quite dark now, and the 
woman had gone in. Nan climbed the gate, and 
stumbling over the grassy hillocks, was in a moment 
within the roofless walls and at the well-remembered 
spot. She could not see the words, but she traced 
them with her finger on the stone : “ Margaret Mac- 
Donald, wife of the Rev . Robert Leslie .” She knelt 
down at the foot of the grave and kissed it. She 
heard the waves surging hoarsely on the shore. Yes, 
everything was just as she had left it. She climbed 
the gate again, and went on her way. 

She might have gone by the sands, but she wanted 
to see the town. The shops were closed by this 
time, and but few people were in the streets. She 
passed Miss Christie’s, and wondered if the old aunt 
of hers who had told her stories about America was 
still living to hear of her disgrace. She walked on 
21 


318 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

past the church, so as to get a glimpse of Mr. Camp- 
bell’s. Then she turned back into the little street 
where stood the Manse. It never occurred to her 
to go as a homeless, houseless suppliant to the door 
and make a last appeal. She only wanted to get 
a glimpse of them if she could. The dining-room 
blind was down, and the kitchen shutters were closed, 
so there was nothing to be seen in front. 

She turned down by the sands till she could see 
the lighted study window. She stood and watched 
it— she would have liked to sit down, but feared she 
might not be able to rise again— till the light disap- 
peared, and then she hastened back to the dining- 
room window to listen for the familiar sounds of 
psalm and chapter and prayer. She tried to hear 
what the psalm was, but the noise in her ears made 
all other sounds indistinct; she knelt on the pave- 
ment when the movement of the chairs told her the 
prayer was beginning, and leaned her burning head 
on the sill. 

Then, as the shutting up for the night began, she 
moved away lest Jean, who was given to studying 
the clouds, should look out and see her. She tried 
the low gate of the outer garden ; it w r as open, and 
she went in, walked to the farthest corner, and sank 
down in the grass. 

How cool and restful it was ! and what a refresh- 
ing breeze came from the sea ! — so different from the 
arid flats and stifling air of Florida. She would not 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


319 


stay long, but she felt strangely weak. Perhaps it 
would be well to try and eat something, so as to have 
strength to get away. Nan had not often troubled 
herself about her duty, but she was trying to do it 
now. 

Her boxes she had quite forgotten, but she still 
had the lunch-basket in her hand. She opened it 
and tried to eat, but she could not swallow a mouth- 
ful. Her throat was parched. How good a glass 
of water would be ! She almost wished she had 
stopped somewhere and asked for a little as she 
came along. 

She put her head down. She did not think they 
would be angry if she took just a little sleep there. 
She had heard that sleep was more than food, and 
it would give her strength to be up and away long 
before morning — so she lay quite still. Two or three 
hours later, Jim, in Florida, will be breathing her 
nightly aspiration, “I do hope her bed’s soft.” 

And this was how Nan came back to Strathlowrie. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


On that same evening Tory had confided to her 
husband that she was very unhappy. “ What if Nan 
should come in spite of the telegram !” 

Archie thought her friends would be too indig- 
nant to let her. Archie was still a violent partisan, 
and his sympathies were with Nan. When they were 
children together he had liked her and disliked Mar- 
garet, and he was not inclined to take the word of 
the latter too implicitly. Besides, whatever Nan had 
done, it was inhuman to turn her from one’s door. 
He declared to Tory that if he had a house she 
should come to it. 

Tory was constrained to admit there was justice in 
all he said, though it seemed treason to say it. She 
had never before heard her father’s decisions ques- 
tioned. But she returned to her trouble; what if 
Nan- should come on ! 

To soothe her, Archie went to his mother and 
asked a temporary home for Nan should she arrive. 
Mrs. Campbell thought it would not be wise to offend 
the minister so openly, especially as they did not 
know, after all, whether Nan might not have done 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


321 


something terrible. But she went to Miss Chris- 
tie, and taking that kind soul into her confidence, 
arranged for a shelter under her roof till things 
should be settled. 

Archie did more. As Colin was not in town, he 
went to the train, and fearing to miss her in the 
dusk, took up his station by the luggage. He found 
her trunks ; and as she did not come to claim them, 
thought there had not been time for her to get them 
off after receiving the telegram. So Tory was com- 
forted. 

Archie was an early riser ; but before he left 
his room next morning Jean knocked at his door. 
“Losh preserve us, sir!” she said, “there’s been sic a 
rampin’, an rampagin’, a’ nicht, I’m feared the beast’s 
gane mad. I daurna open the coal-hoose door for 
fear he’ll flee at my throat. Tie ye a naipkin roon’ 
yer haun’, sir, to brak’ the bite, an I’ll hae a red-hot 
poker ready if the warst comes tae the warst.” 

Archie opened the coal-house door — without the 
suggested precautions, however, and Kelpie, upset- 
ting him in an instant, bounded off in such a way 
as to justify Jean’s suspicions, and disappeared in 
the outer garden. Archie rose, vowing vengeance ; 
and Jean, who had been safely observing them from 
the nook window, with the door not only shut but 
bolted, ran to Tory and announced that “the beast” 
had bitten “Maister Airchibald.” The Campbells 
had one of the rooms with the fine carving, which, 


322 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


having had a convenient passage added behind, 
were no longer dependent on the kitchen. Tory 
could see her husband rushing past the window, 
and could hear Kelpie barking in the wildest excite- 
ment. Then there was a sudden hush. “ Ma eertie !” 
said Jean, in triumph, “ Maister Airchibald’s feenisht 
him 1” 

Tory ran to the door, and in a minute Archie 
was heard on the outside. But it was some time 
before Jean would allow the door to be opened, 
either to let Tory out or Archie in. 

“You old fool! 5 ’ cried Archie, “if you don’t open 
it this minute I’ll batter it in !” 

“Oh, Archie!” exclaimed Tory, as she saw her 
husband’s face, “ has he bitten you ?” 

Archie made an impatient gesture. “ Tory,” he 
said, “ I want you to be brave. There’s somebody 
in the outer garden.” 

“ It’s Nan !” cried Tory, who could think of noth- 
ing else ; and she was opening the door to go to her. 

“Wait, dear,” he said. “ It’s Nan, but I’m afraid 
she’s very, very ill. Help Jean to get a bed ready, 
and I’ll carry her in.” 

“Help Jean!” cried that worthy. “’Deed, then, 
she’ll just hae to help hersel’. I daurna for my life 
gang against the minister.” Jean was excited by 
the news, but had not forgotten having been called 
an old fool. Tory was already at work. 

“ Jean,” said Archie, with decision, “ if you don’t 


captain Macdonald’s daughter. 


323 


go this minute I’ll take that red-hot poker to you ; 
and if you utter a sound to bring the minister down, 
I’ll set Kelpie on you, as sure as death.” 

Jean went. 

Kan was brought in and put into bed, and Archie, 
hurrying off for Dr. Cameron, ran against the min- 
ister coming down to see what all the noise was 
about. 

“I’ll show you, sir,” said Archie, briefly. “ Step 
this way.” 

The minister went, and saw Tory bending over a 
bed on which lay a restless form that tossed its 
arms about and moaned. Drawing nearer he could 
see the dishevelled hair and crimson cheeks, and the 
eyes that were at once so bright and so unknow- 
ing. 

The minister looked inquiringly at his son-in-law. 

“ It’s Kan, sir,” said Archie, “ after a March night’s 
sleep in the outer garden ; and if you think of turn- 
ing her out now, just understand that my wife and 
I go with her.” 

The minister looked at Tory. Ko one, old or 
young, had ever spoken to him as did this bold 
young man. Tory did not even look at him. He 
turned and left the room. Passing through the 
kitchen, he saw Daft Geordie at the window making 
signals of distress. Mr. Leslie opened the door. 

“ Losh, minister !” said Geordie, presenting a tele- 
gram, “ye maun hae sleepit in. I thocht ye were a’ 


824 CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 

deid. Ye’re to write the answer on this, an’ I’m to 
tak’ it.” 

The message was simply that Nan’s American 
friends were on their way to see her, and asking if 
she was in Mr. Leslie’s house. For a reply the min- 
ister wrote the one word, yes. 

And so the now happy party sped on to Strath- 
lowrie. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


Of all the hearts to which Nan’s terrible illness 
brought sorrow, the sorest were the minister’s and 
Irene’s. In the long, weary days of watching and 
waiting those two drew together. 

Not that the mere fact of Nan’s suffering would 
have made the minister regret his course. “ Every 
sin deserves God’s wrath and curse, both in this life 
and that which is to come,” he would have told you. 
He, as God’s agent, had done what was just ; the de- 
gree of punishment was with God, and was the con- 
sequence not of any agency but of the sin itself. 

Even the plain truths in regard to his elder daugh- 
ter, to which Dr. Preston had forced him to listen, 
had not greatly modified his judgment in regard to 
Nan. He was touched, but not remorseful ; the cir- 
cumstances, he said, might palliate, but they could 
not excuse. When Lawrence remarked bitterly that 
he supposed Mr. Leslie would allow that the punish- 
ment exceeded the offence — which was really only 
girlish imprudence — the minister quoted Bishop 
Butler to the effect that punishment very often 
seems out of proportion to that which produces it, 


826 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


and that prudence and imprudence are of the nature 
of virtue and vice, and are in the same manner re- 
warded and punished. 

Bishop Butler ! The Scottish landscape, rugged 
and gray, seemed to vanish ; and Lawrence saw as 
in a dream the far-off island in the river, and Nan 
standing in the mellow light telling him in her en- 
thusiastic way of having coached a student in the 
“Analogy.” He did not need to recall — for he nev- 
er forgot — her passionate admiration and chivalrous 
defence of Irene, and the eager way in which she 
had sketched the ending of the romance. Lawrence 
felt that he owed her the happiness of his life, and 
it maddened him to hear her old favorite brought 
up against her. “ If I thought of God as you do,” 
he said to Mr. Leslie, “ I would put myself on the 
side of the devil.” 

“ Oh hush !” cried Irene, coming forward before 
the minister could speak. “ It is you who are unjust 
now, Lawrence. You must forgive him,” she went 
on, turning to the minister with all her wonted 
grace and far more than her wonted softness ; “ he 
forgets that we are but strangers to you, and that 
you do not need strangers to speak to you for Nan. 
But you will let her speak for herself; you will read 
her poor little letters ; and oh, I hope they will not 
break your heart as they have broken mine !” 

And Irene placed the two letters which Lawrence 
had given her on the study- table, and beckoned 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


32 ? 


Lawrence from the room. The beautiful Southern- 
er judged the minister by herself, and she judged 
him rightly. She remembered how credulous she 
had thought Mrs. Hotspur and Lawrence, and how 
superior she had felt to both in her calm conscious- 
ness of justice. She comprehended the minister as 
Lawrence could not; she would let Nan speak for 
herself. 

Irene saw the minister no more that day. Late in 
the evening he came out of his study and left the 
house. “ He is gone to the church-yard,” said Archie, 
his heart relenting a little towards the oppressor for 
the first time since he had found Nan. When the 
minister returned from the church -yard he went 
softly into the sick-room and laid his hand in bless- 
ing on the restless head, and said over again the vow 
of loving care for Nan’s future which he had made 
at his wife’s grave ; and from the sick-room he went 
back to the study, and throwing himself on his knees, 
cried, “ Oh, my bairn ! my bairn !” And the last 
thought of anger drowned in the strong tide of love 
and sorrow, wrestled in prayer until the morning. 

And then, in the days that followed, Irene filled 
up for him what the letter had left incomplete. She 
spoke of Nan herself — such a strange mixture of real 
gifts and unreal dreams — translated suddenly from 
the watchful care of the Manse to a sphere where 
she was absolutely her own mistress. She told how 
the finding of the mother had been kept a dead se- 


828 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


cret till, by refusing to marry Lawrence, she had 
brought down upon herself Mrs. O’Neil’s wrath, and 
been literally turned out upon the world. She pict- 
ured the journey to Florida, begun in her romantic 
fancies of Mercedes Guzman and ending in the un- 
lovely realities of “Starkses” — an awakening fol- 
lowed by the long, dreary winter when, as she had 
said in her letter to Lawrence, she felt herself for- 
saken by God and man. And she told all this, not 
as bearing on the minister’s part in the tragedy, but 
on her own. “God forgive me!” she cried. “But 
for me she would have turned back when she got 
your message.” “ But for me,” thought the minis- 
ter, “ she would not have lain through the March 
night without bed to rest in or roof to cover her. 
God forgive me /” 

The minister was the least mercenary of men, and 
yet it would be idle to deny that Miss Preston’s leg- 
acy had its effect upon him. It would free Nan from 
the burden of debt ; it would to a great extent assure 
her future ; above all it was a proof of the regard in 
which she had been held. Not for a moment did he 
think of any possible advantage to the Manse. The 
Americans were determined to take Nan back with 
them. Preston Place was not to be sold after all, 
and Nan was to be doubly, trebly welcome, they said, 
to her old place in it. While the minister thought 
Nan penniless he had refused his consent to this 
plan, declaring that she should remain with him ; but 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


329 


when he heard of the legacy he decided that she 
should choose for herself. 

News was flashed from house to house in Strath- 
lowrie that Nan MacDonald had come back again. 
Tory remembered with what proud confidence Nan 
had predicted it should be so. How little either of 
them had guessed at such a coming ! At first there 
were all sorts of rumors as to her arriving alone; 
though the telegraphist — one of Mr. Leslie’s own 
flock — had kept his counsel well. But when it was 
known that the Americans had come, it was taken 
for granted that only Nan’s impatience to see Strath- 
lowrie again had made her outspeed them. As for 
Jean, she would have been hanged, drawn, and quar- 
tered before betraying the secret of the fatal night, 
and did not hesitate to answer every question put 
to her in the true Scotch way — by asking another. 
“ Hoo was’t she cam’ alane ?” she echoed after An- 
drewina, who, established at the Manse again, dared 
to put the interrogation. “ Gin ye felt a fivver corn- 
in’ on, wad ye no be in a hurry to win hame tae yer 
ain fowks an’ yer ain bed ? Naebody but a muckle 
sumpk wad hae to ask !” The muckle sumph care- 
fully spread the information ; and gave, moreover, 
such glowing accounts of the wealth and greatness 
of the Americans and of their devotion to Nan that, 
had the latter appeared as the famous authoress or 
the daughter of the Guzmans — the two roles between 
which she had hesitated in picturing her return — she 


330 


CAPTAIN MACDONALD’S DAUGHTER. 


could scarcely have elicited more interest. Kind old 
Miss Macalaster came daily from the castle, stopping 
the yellow chariot at the corner lest it should dis- 
turb the invalid. So many were the inquiries that 
Kirsty Poison — a reformed character since the days 
of “ holies” — had a chair in the porch, with nothing 
to do from morning till night but answer questions 
and cry herself nearly blind. Kind-hearted Colin, 
unable in his anxiety to settle to business, sent tidings 
to far-off Rob and Davie, and, moved by his brother- 
in-law, took care that the minister’s late unfavorable 
accounts of Nan should be modified ; Dr. Preston re- 
membered the loving pair in Florida; while Archie 
confided to his wife that on his own responsibility 
he had indited and mailed to Margaret a “ stinger.” 

But a little while before, and, as far as Nan knew, 
all the world was against her. At last the tide had 
turned. The past was no longer exaggerated, and 
such as it was, it was blotted out forever. She should 
come back, every one she cared for vowed, to life 
and to most tender love together. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


The long delirium was over, and Nan was in a 
deep sleep. When she awoke it would be to con- 
scious life — or to death. 

In the Manse the familiar sounds of daily life were 
hushed. In a stillness like that of the grave they 
watched and waited — Mrs. Hotspur at the sleeper’s 
side, and, hand-in-hand at a little distance, the two 
ideals of Nan’s childhood, the Angel Tory and the 
King’s Daughter. 

Suddenly the town-clock struck. The tones were 
mellow in themselves and faint by reason of distance, 
but at the sound the sleeper stirred and her lips 
moved noiselessly. Then, opening on Mrs. Hotspur 
calm and conscious eyes, she smiled and slowly said, 
“ I should like to send a message to Mother Frangoise. 
Tell her I never forgot the little prayer.” 

And, having said this, Nan passed on. 


THE END. 



BEN-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 


By Lew. Wallace. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, 

Cloth, $1 50. 

Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this 
romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr. Wah 
lace’s writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de- 
scribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
an accomplished master of style. — jV. Y. Times. 

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we witness a sea- 
fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal- 
aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
families of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident; everything is 
animated, vivid, and glowing. — N. Y. Tribune. 

From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader’s interest 
will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boston Post. 

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and there 
is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., to greatly 
strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 

“Ben-Hnr” is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
Meanwhile *t evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is laid, 
and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
Antioch at the time of our Saviour’s advent. — Examiner , N. Y. 

It is really Scripture history of Christ’s time clothed gracefully and 
delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . . Few late 
works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. Graphic. 

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
chapters of history. — Indianapolis Journal. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
and romance. — Boston Journal. 


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A TRAMP TRIP. 

How to See Europe on Fifty Cents a Day. By Lee 
Meriwether. With Portrait, pp. 276. 12mo, 

Ornamental Cloth, $1 25. 


“ In the garb of a working-man Mr. Meriwether spent a year on a tramp 
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hints and suggestions to would-be pedestrians, and to others who wish to 
travel wisely and economically.” 

An uncommonly interesting volume. — N. Y. Tribune. 

The book is full of interesting incidents and accidents that befell the 
writer on his trip, and contains many entertaining stories of the manner of 
life of the peasants, as well as many facts and figures on the much dis- 
cussed “ Labor Question.” — Independent , N. Y. 

The book is altogether quite out of the range of and above ordinary 
volumes of travel, and will give a fair, comprehensive idea of the hard 
labor and miserable poverty of the European masses. To do this was 
worth all the trials and hardships of the plucky explorer, who seems to 
have enjoyed his uncomfortable days with a light heart. — Nation, N. Y. 

There is not a dull page in the whole book ; the style is simple and per- 
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facts clear and logical, and no one who reads it can help envying a man 
who succeeded in seeing so much that many travellers have passed by 
without notice, and who has been able to give us such graphic pictures of 
the home life and the simple manners and customs of toiling millions be- 
yond the sea. — Philadelphia Record. 

Every one interested in travel or fond of out-door sport will enjoy it 
Immensely. — Boston Globe. 

Is as bright and wide-awake in its style as it is unique in its subject. 
— Boston Daily Advertiser. 

All of it is intensely interesting, and we congratulate the young fellow 
that has pluck enough to carry out such a remarkable scheme. — Troy Press. 

There will be hundreds, thousands who will go abroad next summer to 
whom this book may give advice of a very useful sort. — Brooklyn Times. 

A thoroughly readable and entertaining book. . . . The writer put on 
blouse and knapsack and wandered through parts of Italy and Germany 
and Russia, seeking the humblest lodgings and putting up with the least 
inviting fare in order to be near the people, to see them in their homes, to 
learn how they earned their daily bread and how they ate it, and to get at 
their views of life. With sharp eyes and a ready wit and a robust diges- 
tion, he saw many things which the ordinary traveller would never notice 
or indeed care to see, and he has written about them in a gay and jovial 
vein. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 


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THEIR PILGRIMAGE. 


By Charles Dudley Warner. Richly Illustrated by C. S. 
Reinhart, pp. viii., 364. 8vo, Half Leather, $2 00. 


Aside from the delicious story — its wonderful portraitures of character 
and its dramatic development — the book is precious to all who know any- 
thing about the great American watering-places, for it contains incompar- 
able descriptions of those famous resorts and their frequenters. Even 
without the aid of Mr. Reinhart’s brilliant drawings, Mr. Warner conjures 
up word-pictures of Cape May, Newport, Saratoga, Lake George, Richfield 
Springs, Niagara, the White Mountains, and all the rest, which strike the 
eye like photographs, so clear is every outline. But Mr. Reinhart’s de- 
signs fit into the text so closely that we could not bear to part with a 
single one of them. “Their Pilgrimage” is destined, for an indefinite 
succession of summers, to be a ruling favorite with all visitors of the 
mountains, the beaches, and the spas which are so marvellously reflected 
in its pages. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

The author touches the canvas here and there with lines of color that 
fix and identify American character. Herein is the real charm for those 
who like it best, and for this one may anticipate that it will be one of the 
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or that subject, there is nothing to add. But acknowledgment is due Mr. 
Reinhart for nearly eighty finely conceived drawings, and to the publishers 
for the substantial and rich letter-press and covers . — Boston Globe. 

No more entertaining travelling companions for a tour of pleasure re- 
sorts could be wished for than those who in Mr. Warner’s pages chat and 
laugh, and skim the cream of all the enjoyment to be found from Mount 
Washington to the Sulphur Springs. . . . His pen-pictures of the charac- 
ters typical of each resort, of the manner of life followed at each, of the 
humor and absurdities peculiar to Saratoga, or Newport, or Bar Harbor, 
as the case may be, are as good-natured as they are clever. The satire, 
when there is any, is of the mildest, and the general tone is that of one 
glad to look on the brightest side of the cheerful, pleasure-seeking world 
with which he mingles. ... In Mr. Reinhart the author has an assistant 
who has done with his pencil almost exactly what Mr. Warner has accom- 
plished with his pen. His drawings are spirited, catch with wonderful 
success the tone and costume of each place visited, and abound in good- 
natured fun . — Christian Union , N. Y. 

Mr. Reinhart’s spirited and realistic illustrations are very attractive, and 
contribute to make an unusually handsome book. We have already com- 
mented upon the earlier chapters of the text; and the happy blending of 
travel and fiction which we looked forward to with confidence did, in fact, 
distinguish this story among the serials of the year. — N. Y. Evening Post . 


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Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist laureate. 
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Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, and 
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Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox nov- 
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KING SOLOMON’S MINES. A Novel. 4to, Paper, 20 cents; 
16mo, Half Bound, 75 cents. 

Few stories of the season are more exciting than this, for it contains an ac- 
count of the discovery of the legendary mines of Kiug Solomon in South Africa. 
The style is quaint and realistic throughout, and the adventures of the explorers 
in the laud of the Kukuana are full of stirring incidents. The characters, too, 
are vigorously drawn.— News and Courier , Charleston. 

This novel has achieved a wonderful popularity. It is one of the best selling 
books of the season, and it deserves its great success.— Troy Daily Press. 

DAWN. With one Illustration. 16mo, Half Bound, 75 cents. 

THE WITCH’S HEAD. 16mo, Half Bound, 75 cents. 

ALLAN QUATERMAIN. Profusely Illustrated. 16mo, Paper, 
25 cents; Half Bound, 75 cents. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Any of the above works sent by mail , postage prepaid , to any part of the United 
States or Canada , on receipt of the price . 


FROM THE FORECASTLE TO THE CABIN 


By Captain S. Samuels. Illustrated, pp. xviii., 308. 
12mo, Extra Cloth, $1 50. 


“The record of a life of stirring adventure. Captain Samuels began 
his career by running away to sea at the age of eleven years as a cabin- 
boy ; at twenty-one he was captain of a fine ship, and he retired from 
the active pursuit of his profession when commander of the famous clip- 
per Dreadnought . He tells his experiences in tempests and mutinies, in 
fights with pirates and street ruffians, in romantic escapades, in collisions, 
and in battles with cannibals. As a yachting commander, Captain Sam- 
uels sailed the Henrietta , which won the ocean sweepstakes in 1866, and 
he commanded the Dauntless in her race with the Coronet .” 


“ Captain Samuels has given me the privilege of reading the proof-sheets 
of the following pages, and has asked me to introduce him to the public. 
I cannot conceive of a more unnecessary ceremony. ‘ Good wine needs no 
bush,’ and 4 From the Forecastle to the Cabin ’ has not a dull fine in it. 
The art of telling a story is, after all, as an Irishman would sav, a gift, 
and Captain Samuels certainly has that gift. I read to some friends of 
not uncritical disposition the tale to be found in chapters twelve and thir- 
teen, and they paid it the rare compliment of asking to hear it again the 
next evening. In fact, a volume crowded with so much and such various 
incidents, graphically told, could not fail to be interesting.” — Bishop Pot- 
ter’s Introductory Note. 

A vivid picture of life on shipboard, and a stirring narrative of personal 
experience. . . . Bishop Potter well says that the book has not a dull fine 
in it. The captain has the art of telling a story in high perfection. — 
N. Y. Tribune. 

The story is full of interest and excitement. ... It is a charming book. 
— N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

The book is one of great interest. ... It is the story of a famous and 
able sailor, told by himself in his own way, and has incident enough to 
fix the attention and set going the imagination of anybody. — N. Y. Sun. 

It will take the front rank among the books of adventure on the sea. — 
Boston Courier. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

tsp* The above work sent by mail , postage prepaid , to any part of the United States 
or Canada , on receipt of the price . 


THE STARTLING EXPLOITS OF 
DR. J. B. QUIES. 

From the French of Paul Celiere. By Mrs. Cashel 
Hoey and Mr. John Lillie. Profusely illustrated, 
pp. xii., 328. Crown 8vo, Extra Cloth, $1 75. 


“ The hero of the story, Dr. Qui&s, is a wealthy Frenchman, a resident 
of a provincial town, who is addicted to archaeology and has a mortal an- 
tipathy to travel. But in an unlucky hour he is induced to take a jour- 
ney by rail some distance from home ; and partly by the malicious con- 
trivance of a rival archaeologist who is jealous of his fame, and partly in 
consequence of a series of mishaps, he becomes involved in a course of in- 
voluntary wanderings. The book abounds in laughable situations, arising 
from the conflict between the doctor’s desire to be at rest and the per- 
verse fate which urges him on, and it will be read with unflagging inter- 
est. The illustrations are numerous and characteristic.” 


All is as simple and as natural as the tales that children love, and there 
seems to have been pleasure rather than pride in the telling. The person 
who cannot enjoy pure fun in such guise is an object for commiseration. — 
JV. Y. Commercial Advertiser . 

A most amusing and fantastic book, illustrated with great cleverness. 
... It would be hard to find any emanation from the French press of the 
day more harmlessly entertaining, and, it may be added, instructive. — 
Brooklyn Eagle. 

It is by all odds the most amusing book of the season. The illustra- 
tions are numerous and striking, and fit in as appropriately to the text as 
the familiar Pickwick pictures. — Boston Post. 

It is intensely funny. — Commercial Bulletin , Boston. 

The obese doctor’s exploits in Algeria are all so unique and well told 
that the volume is made at once a thing of beauty and a joy — let us hope 
— forever. — Philadelphia Press. 

As entertaining a book as has been written since the Pickwick Papers, 
and the central figure, although his adventures are of quite a different 
kind, will inevitably suggest the President of the Pickwick Club. . . . The 
humor is delightful, and is admirably sustained from beginning to end. — 
Boston Journal. 

A book which has much of the wild imagination as well as the elastic 
power of Jules Yerne. — San Francisco Chronicle. 

^ 

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

MS" The above work sent by mail , postage prepaid , to any part of the United States 

v or Canada , on receipt of the price. P) 


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